


(I Want to Sleep With) Common People Like You

by telemachus



Series: Waves of Glory [10]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Dancing, Gloin's Parenting, Glorfindel on a motorbike, Horses, Idiot sons of Elrond, M/M, Making a Holiday Romance Work, Real Life is difficult, Rich Legolas, Swords, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, Unfulfilled Gimli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU where Legolas is a rich boy, and Gimli is not - can a wonderful holiday romance grow into more? Or are there just too many differences, too much stuff in the way? </p><p>Also featuring some Thranduil-parenting, and Glorfindel on a motorbike.</p><p>(A sequel to Surf's Up, but I think it stands alone.)<br/>Title (of course) from the song by Pulp (showing my age......)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An endless moment can be perfect. A holiday romance can be perfect.

Keeping it special, keeping it for weekends away, holidays – does that keep it perfect?

I don’t know.

But – I watch Tau and Ki – and it isn’t perfect – they fight, and they shout, and – and they make-up, and they find a way through, or round – and – and they see each other as often as they can, and they are part of each other’s everyday lives now.

Yet – somehow – it doesn’t seem any less special for all that.

Months pass, and Tau talks of visits up there, of meeting the family, the friends, and then – of maybe moving, of the future. She sparkles, she glows with happiness.

I smile, and laugh, and listen.

Gim – phones. When he can.

We manage a couple of weekends.

I try and suggest holidays, him coming here, I hint at going there – some kind of plans at least – but – he doesn't seem bothered.

I tell myself it keeps the magic alive.

But I can’t help wondering.

 

 

 

I hang up and within seconds I am texting Tau.

_This weekend!! He’s coming here! At last! Need to plan!_

Almost immediately she answers,

_5 mins away. Open wine._

Eru be praised for the best friend ever. 

 

 

 

True to her word, it isn’t long before we are sat on the sofa, curled toe to toe, wine poured, me with pen and paper, ready to make a list.

It’s like being seventeen again.

“I know,” I say, “I know, don’t laugh at me – but – it’s the first time he’s been here – the first time that – that it’s been more than just – a holiday-fling-reunion. I – I just want to get it right. So. I said I would meet him at Euston – then – taxi here? And would you go out that night? Or just stay in? and – and what about in the day – he said he’d leave Monday morning – gives us two whole days – three nights – and I don’t know what to wear, or where to go, or what to do about food – or – “

She prods me with her foot,

“Slow down, ‘Las,” she says, “slow down. And calm down. He isn’t coming to see London. Or to eat gourmet food – they have that in Birmingham these days, you know – he doesn’t care what you wear – except he wants it on the floor by the bed. You know that.”

I flush.

Yes.

I do.

But – I want to get it right.

“Besides,” she goes on, and – I don’t like that tone of voice – that's the tone of voice that means she thinks I am being more than usually excitable and need to think, “there’s something you’re not talking about, isn’t there? Have you told him yet?”

I shrug, pretend I don’t know what she means.

“Nothing to tell,” I say.

“Las.”

“No, don’t know what you mean.”

“Las.”

“No. Still not getting it.”

She kicks me again.

“Alright,” I say, “no, I haven’t told him. I don’t need to – fucks sake, Tau, either of us opens our mouth its damn obvious we went to public school, he’s not stupid, any more than your Ki, they know we have more money than them, it doesn’t matter, its only money.”

She looks at me.

I hate that look.

Pitying.

“Right,” she begins, “so much wrong with that lot. For your information, Ki probably earns about the same as me, well, a bit less – only it goes further up there. Only – there’s some weird family shit going on – I don’t know it all yet – but – Ki and his brother have been supporting their mother and uncle for a while now – I don’t know – the uncle has some kind of – post-combat mental issues – I don’t know. Anyway. Brother – you met him, I don’t suppose you remember though – he’s just got married. So – yeah, things are a bit tight right now. But it’s not about me and Ki. He’s been here, seen my flat, met my parents – I’ve been up there, met his family – it’s cool. What about Gimli? Have you told him just how wealthy you are? What you even do all day?”

I shake my head,

“He hasn’t asked,” I say, “we – we aren’t very good at talking. We get – distracted.”

She laughs, and I flush again.

“I know what he does,” I say, defiantly, trying to remember, “he said – student – no, plumber – something – oh, fuck, Tau, it doesn’t matter. Why does he even need to know? Why are we having this conversation?”

She shakes her head,

“He’s not stupid. You own – or at the least, he’ll see you live in – a flat in the nicest bit of the City of London. Alone. It’s a big flat. He’s going to realise how much it’s worth when he sees it. Balcony, pool, gym, concierge. Listen to yourself – taxi, meals out – going places – you’re going to be flashing cash around – and why not – but – he’s going to ask. Better to be upfront, isn’t it? And – maybe you should know more about him, if you really mean it. If he’s the One.”

I suppose she’s right.

But – I don’t think it’s going to be an easy conversation. I’m not stupid, I know what she means, and I know the fact I’ve been hiding – not deliberately, not to start with, I didn’t mean to let him assume it was a holiday let, rather than just one of the properties we own, it just happened, I’ve never hidden the labels on clothes and so on, it’s just he isn’t the type to see or realise so – I have – and he’s not going to like it.

I’d rather have gone there, really, left this all a bit longer.

Only he didn’t want me to. Didn’t want me to meet his parents, his friends.

And that's the other thing.

“I don’t know how serious he is,” I whisper, looking down at my hands, at the ring he gave me, “he said – same as me – when – when we got together. But – he isn’t Out at home – at all – only Ki, maybe some of the others, but most of them – I think he let them think it was over when they went home. Just a – bit of a holiday adventure.” I twist the ring, remembering his face when he gave it me, put it on, remembering the words he said, how he made it a promise – but – it was a promise to remember, to always care, to love. It wasn’t a promise of anything more – involved. I look up at her, “It’s been over seven months now. And this is the first time he’s agreed to come here. It’s always been meet-ups in hotels, dirty weekends – and very nice – and – he’s paid most of his share, or he thinks he has, but – I daren’t make it more difficult.”

Honestly, it hasn’t been that often. More texts, phonecalls, more – wanting.

I didn’t even see him over Yule – and that shouldn’t matter – it doesn't – I’m an elf, we don’t really do Yule – but – I knew Ki made a big thing of seeing Tau, her parents, his family. So – I couldn’t help but wonder.

He didn’t even phone that day. And, again, it shouldn’t matter – only – somehow – it does. That he knew – he knew I was home alone – stuff shuts down, and Ada – Ada doesn't do Yule, never has, not that I remember – other years I’ve seen Tau or other friends, but – I didn’t feel like it. Texted him. Just – just to say have a nice day, phone me when you can – but – there was family stuff – or something – so it was three days before he did. He texted though.

But.

I don’t quite know what to think, what to do.

I don’t think he’s the sort to play false – apart from anything else, I don’t think Ki would lie, not to Tau. They’re so serious. It’s cute.

She’s talking about moving up there.

Fuck knows what she thinks is going to be there job-wise, but – she hasn’t asked my opinion, so I’m just waiting on that.

Anyway.

I don’t think Gimli’s playing me about.

I just – think he isn’t ready – isn’t able – I don’t know – he doesn’t want to come out. 

He doesn’t seem to want more than this.

But I do.

Tau sighs, and pats me,

“Just think about it,” she says, gently, “it might be a good time to talk a bit. In between. If you let him out of bed at all.”

I play with the pen a bit more,

“That’s the other thing,” I say, and now – now I am started I can’t seem to stop, “bed. I – its – how do you ask for – for something – for – a different – “ I run out of words.

Moments like this, I wish my best friend was a gay bloke. I don’t quite know how to say to Tau – how do I ask to go on top sometimes? How do I say that – yes, I like his hands, I like what he does, I like being fucked – and yes, he has gone down on me – although nothing like as often as I have – but sometimes – I’d like to switch? How do I say to him – this isn’t the way it usually is – I know I’m his first boyfriend – that – yes, he is wonderful in bed – except – he doesn't seem to see that we have more options than he is used to?

How do I say – is it wrong of me to begin to wonder if he wishes I was a girl? To want proof that he doesn’t?

She holds up her hands,

“Woah, woah, woah,” she says, “stop right there. You tell me, you can’t unsay it. Ever. Now, normally, that doesn’t matter – like when you told me Hal likes to look in the mirror just a bit too much – like when you’ve told me about some of the others – or the stories about boys you won’t see again – but this time – even if you two split – I could be seeing him for as long as I’m with Ki. Which is always. So don’t.”

She’s right.

I nod.

“Besides,” she adds, “I doubt I know anything helpful. And I really, really don’t want to hear about games. Now, drink your nice wine, and make a list for the cleaner, and a shopping list – lube, condoms, nice shower gel, bacon, rolls, coffee – and – calm down.”

“What do I wear?” I ask, pathetically, because I feel a bit – scared.

She grins, and toes me again,

“Anything that’s tight and comes off quickly,” she says, and we laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

I get off the train, and it’s busy, it’s noisy, it’s hot, it’s smelly – it’s everything I expect a London station to be. 

Except – he’s at the barrier, waiting, and – when he sees me, his whole face lights up – lights up just for me – and – fuck, he really is every bit as perfect as I remembered him.

Fuck.

No-one – no bloke – should look that good in those ridiculous skinny jeans he wears. Not with knee-length boots. He just shouldn’t.

But he does.

Oh sweet Mahal, he looks – perfect. And – I keep thinking as I walk towards him – and he’s mine. In – I don’t know – an hour maybe – I’ll be buried deep in that perfect arse, and he’ll be making those noises, and – and oh sweet fuck, I don’t know what I did to deserve such happiness.

Only. 

Been thinking the whole way here – what will it be like – seeing him again – it’s been so long – and – what will he expect – in public – I don’t know.

Before – when we’ve met up – it’s been either in the hotel room or the once he picked me up from the nearest station – but – there hasn’t been anyone around. And that first week – it all felt unreal – plus I knew Ki and the others were ok with it. So – this feels like a big deal to me.

But – he might not see it that way.

I don’t know.

I don’t know what it’s ok to do, what it’s ok not to do.

Fuck. I’m not sure I want to – to touch him in front of – anyone, everyone. I’m not sure I’m cool with that.

I wish I’d just said I’d go straight to his flat. 

But – it’s good to see him. Good to see his face shining for me.

And – oh. I see.

Even in London – he doesn't launch himself at me, like I half-expect, like I can see girls doing to their boys – to their girl-friends for that matter.

Oh.

So that – that isn’t something I can expect now.

Fuck.

What was Ki’s phrase? “I’m not sure you’re supposed to be disappointed if it wasn’t something you wanted to do.” 

No. 

Well. 

There we are.

Maybe I did want to, after all.

Still. He’s smiling, and smiling, and as we walk he lets his hand brush mine – not quite holding but – almost – and – maybe that's ok for now.

Perhaps I’ll ask, later. Find out what the rules are.

I’m assuming I need to buy a tube ticket, but – no. Apparently we’re getting a taxi.

Proper London black cab.

And – oh. Rules are different in a cab, apparently.

Not just hand-holding.

Kissing.

Serious, serious, this is going to turn into something more pretty soon, kissing.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, Legolas.

And he – he is running his hands over me, and kissing and making those little sounds, and – and oh sweet Mahal, he feels so good in my hands, and against me, and – oh fuck.

“Want you,” he says, “missed you so much, so much Gim, want you so.”

“I’m here now,” I say, painfully aware of the listening cabbie, painfully embarrassed, and painfully, painfully hard – but I hear myself, and realise how uncaring I sound, and I don’t want to hurt him – he isn’t half as tough as he seems, so I look at him, only at him, and then I manage, “missed you too.”

I don’t know how long the journey takes – it feels like no time at all, and it feels like forever – wanting, needing, being able to hold him, and smell him, and taste him. When the cab pulls up, I wonder if I should pay – and then I see the fare – and I think – fuck – that's almost half the money I have for the weekend, and I don’t know if he wants to go out, I don’t know what plans he has, I want to be able to pay for him, or at least myself – but – maybe I ought to pay now, I know I would if he were a girl, but I don’t know the rules – except, he wouldn’t have been in the cab but for me – only he pulls out a wallet before I can, and – fuck. He doesn't just pay – he hands over – I don’t know how much – but it’s all in twenties, and he says keep the change – and – fuck.

I’m thinking that, and I’m looking at the building, and I’m a bit – out of my depth.

Shit.

We go up in the lift – and – oh holy shit.

This flat – it must be bigger than – well, certainly bigger than my parents’ house.

But it’s just him lives here.

Not that I seem to be going to see most of it just now.

No.

“Want you,” he says again, and – oh fuck – he is so, so good – I can’t think about all this – only – yes.

Bedroom.

Not looking at the size of it, the art, the view, the music system, the wall-mounted flatscreen, the designer clothes lying discarded.

Not thinking about any of it.

Just – clothes on the floor, and – and oh Legolas – there he is, all stretched out for me – just like I’ve been thinking of, every night without him, and half the bloody days as well.

I’m licking him, kissing him, touching him – just trying to get all of him as close as I can – and I want, I want – and he is making those wonderful noises, and then,

“Need you,” he says, “Gim, please, slower next time if you want, but now – please – just – want you in me.”

Can’t help but grin, can’t help but be so pleased to have him so desperate for me – for me! – I still don’t understand why – but I’m not questioning.

And – yes – he has the lube, and the condoms, ready on the table by the bed – so I reach out, and, 

“Been thinking about you,” he says, and pulls my hand down and – oh. Oh, I see. Yes. 

“You – you – “ I don’t have the words – I must look a bit shocked.

He shrugs,

“I knew we’d come straight to bed – didn’t want to have to wait – been so long without you – so – use your fingers if you want but – you don’t need – just – quickly. I want you so bad.”

Oh fuck.

The thought of him – lying here – doing that – thinking about me – oh fuck.

And for the first time in years, I can’t get the bloody condom open, my hands are shaking so much, and he has to help and suddenly – he’s laughing, and I am too, and – and I’m not just desperately eager to fuck him – I want to watch him laugh, and hold him, and – and be with him.

But then its open, and on, and I’m in him, and I suppose I should move, and angle myself, and please him, like he taught me, but – all I want is to be here, tight, and warm, and held, and I bury my face in his neck, in the scent of him, his hair messed up, and – and before I have time to think about it,

“I love you,” I say, “I love you so much. I mean it, Legolas, you’re my One. I love you. Hold me.”

He – he is just smiling, and shiny, and so, so happy as he pulls my head round so he can see my face.

“I love you too,” he says back, “but – right now – oh gods, Gimli – just fuck me.”

And I laugh, and – and it’s alright.

More than alright.

 

 

 

I don’t know where the evening goes – well, I suppose – sex. And more sex.

And food – he phones for bloody sushi – and – yes, love, I have had it before, yes, they do it even in Birmingham now, but – yes, I suppose this is better, if you say so.

And more sex. Fuck, I had forgotten how flexible he is, how many ways there are, how – how bloody good he is at – well, everything – especially with his mouth – oh holy Mahal, his mouth.

And then, when I am exhausted, and he, kindly, pretends he is too, a film – tv in bed – very nice.

Only – it’s a crap film, some weird elf-shit – but he likes it, and I doze, holding him, and then I wake again because he is changing the channel – oh. He has porn.

Well.

Now that is – interesting.

Fuck.

Is that even possible?

I look at him, and I want to ask, but – I don’t want to sound stupid – so I stay quiet. He must realise though, because he turns and says,

“I know, it’s overdone – but – no more than any of those car programmes or whatever. Who wants to see real stuff on the screen?”

Me.

I’d like to – well – know that I’m doing it right, know that – that it isn’t just that he loves me that makes him so happy.

But I don’t say it.

He curls round me, still half watching, half fussing with my hair, and beard – he likes my beard – and then his hand starts to wander and,

“Stop it,” I say, and I pull away, “I don’t like that.”

He goes very quiet.

“What?” I ask.

“You like doing it to me well enough,” he says, looking away from me, “how do you know you don’t like it if we don’t try?”

Which is fair.

But – suddenly I find – I’m not ready for this.

Oh.

I – I’ve kind of been kidding myself that I was ok about it – about being gay – or bi – whatever – it doesn't really matter what I call it – if I’m with him forever, then it doesn't matter who else I could look at. But – when he touches me – there – makes it clear he wants – that – then – well. Maybe I’m not quite ok yet.

I don’t say anything.

He turns off the tv, rolls over.

“I’m not a girl,” he says, still looking away, “I – I like you in me – but – sometimes I need to be – I need you – at least – I want to try it that way.”

Oh Mahal.

The thought of it – I’m – I don’t know. Excited. Terrified.

Terrified it might hurt.

Terrified I might like it.

Might like it too much – and what would that mean about me? 

I want to run away – first impulse is to get up, to walk away, to turn away.

But I remember – I did that before. It didn’t work too well.

“I know you’re not a girl,” I say, “I – I go down on you.” Sometimes. But – I don’t think I’m very good at it, and so – I don’t want to disappoint, but I don’t know how to ask what I’m doing wrong – it’s easier to use my hand, and so I do try but – well. Maybe not as much as I should, I think.

From the silence next to me, that's what he is thinking too.

“I – can we talk about this tomorrow?” I ask, pathetically – but I don’t want to argue and – I know I won’t get it right, “I’m tired, please?”

He shrugs, still not looking at me.

“’K,” he says, and he sounds so – hurt.

He lies down, still facing away, and – and oh fuck.

I lie down on my back, and looking at the ceiling, I try and rehearse the words. Don’t want a mouth-running-off-without-brain moment.

“OK,” I start, “I love you. I want to be with you. I know you – you’re male. I hadn’t thought about it – because – partly because – you haven’t mentioned it. I didn’t know you wanted to,” he huffs, and I say, “no, I didn’t. Maybe I should have. But I haven’t been with a bloke before. You know that. I – now you say it – yes. It makes sense. I – maybe I’m a bit slow sometimes. Sorry. But – if it’s what you want – tomorrow – when I’m not so knackered – show me. Slowly, though.”

He laughs, and even if it isn’t quite as happy a sound as earlier, it’s better than the huff, or the silence.

Turns over, so that he is lying on the side facing me, and puts an arm over me.

Possessive.

“Slowly, of course,” he says, and then, I can hear the smile in his voice, “I’ll be very slow. I’ll have you regretting that request before I’m done.”

“Promises,” I say, and I put my arm round him, and we drift off to sleep.

Well, I sleep.

Don’t know what you call it with elves.


	3. Chapter 3

Raining next morning.

No point going out, he says.

Fuck, but if I had a flat like this – I don’t think I’d ever go out.

I could spend hours, just standing here at these fucking great plate-glass windows, looking out across the city. How many floors up are we? Twenty odd? Can see for miles. Even in the rain the city looks – pretty cool actually.

Little red buses.

Black cabs.

The river.

He laughs at me a bit, calls me provincial, but – only in a nice way – points out landmarks, things I’ve heard of but never seen. Part of me wants to say – let’s go – take me to St Pauls, to the London Eye, to Trafalgar Square – which I can’t see – show me all the sights. But it sounds – provincial. Like a tourist.

Like some fucking American with a camera.

No.

So I just look.

Think – maybe there’ll be another time. Maybe I can come for a bit longer one day – take some leave.

But that won’t be much fun for him. He wants to go places for holidays, not sit in his flat. He’s always talking about – fuck knows – Scotland for surfing, France for wine, Greece for sun, or further afield. And – shit – I’d like to sit and watch him surf again, so beautiful, so clever, so amazing he is – or watch him drink wine, and giggle – he does, he giggles wonderfully when he’s a bit drunk – or lie in the sun and turn the most perfect golden brown – him, not me, I’d just burn, have to cover up, but I wouldn’t mind. 

Anything, anywhere.

Only.

Fuck knows how he thinks I’m going to afford any of that.

Irony is, I think he is deliberately trying to suggest the cheapest options that occur to him. He hasn’t talked about – I don’t know – Australia, Hawaii, wherever. He hasn’t talked about skiing – at least, not in terms of us going. Even he must realise that's out of my budget. Not to mention I’d probably bloody break all my limbs.

Bloody Cornwall was the big trip of last year. Staying in a sodding caravan park, six of us to a van. We were just lucky it didn’t piss down all week.

Well, I was just lucky I met him. He and that Tau – in some bloody fancy apartment. Lovely, don’t get me wrong, but – well, Ki and I kind of had an unspoken agreement not to mention exactly where we were staying. 

Their apartment was easily big enough for four.

Fortunately.

And soundproofed, at least, I assume so. We certainly didn’t hear them, and Ki hasn’t been taking the piss out of me, so I’m guessing they didn’t hear us. Not awfully quiet, my Legolas. Not in bed.

He’s quiet now though.

Don’t know what he’s thinking.

After a bit, I bite the bullet and ask,

“How do you pay for this? What do you do?” I should know, I suppose, but I don’t. He’s talked about ‘the office’ but not in detail. Part of me wonders whether it’s inherited money. How much – whether – he works at all. Don’t quite know how to ask that.

He looks at me, and looks away, playing with his coffee spoon – and fuck – coffee spoons? Bloody great coffee machine? 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely – but – fuck. What did that cost?

“Ada bought the flat,” he starts, “when it first went up – he often buys places that are a good investment – and then I wanted to be in London – I think he hoped I might once I stopped travelling – gap years after Oxford, you know how it is – anyway, he is over in Knightsbridge – that’s the family home – he won’t leave. I think he’d be better off somewhere like this now he’s alone – but he wants to stay where he remembers being with Naneth.”

I think that's a cue to ask, and I will, but – right now – I want to hear the answer to the first question. So I wait.

He sighs again.

“I paid him back,” he says, “before you ask. Well, I would have. I earn pretty well these days. But it was nice having this place when I first started – we get on better when we don’t live together – and it’s closer to work – I – “ he laughs, “this is stupid. Look at us. We’ve said – always – but we haven’t talked about this kind of thing.”

I suppose it is really.

“We’re talking now,” I say, “talk first. Then more sex.”

“Promise?” he asks, and I grin.

“Alright,” he takes a breath, “I don’t know why I think you will care. I work for a – not a bank – an investment house. I head up the team that specialises in green stuff – environmental – ethical – funds. So – money goes into businesses that specialise in carbon capture, or renewable energy, or recycling projects – making more things recyclable – reforestation, reclaiming deserts for agriculture – that kind of stuff. How much detail do you want? No armaments, no nuclear. Medical – I used to deal with that as well – but less so these days. There’s so much environmental – it’s a big sector these days – I kind of don’t need to do as much other stuff,” he pauses, looking down at his spoon again, “I’m pretty good at it,” he says endearingly – no shit, I think, they pay you this much, I thought you must be – then he looks up and meets my eye, “but yes, what you’re thinking, some of the money – is inherited. Trust fund,” he shrugs, “Ada, Daerada – my grandfather – they both made a lot of money. Forestry – he owns – I don’t know – a sizeable amount of Scotland – I’ll take you sometime, not just the islands, but on the mainland too – acres of wet and lovely trees, you might like the shooting in season,” he stops, finds his way back to the point, “vineyards, munitions during the War – Ada got out of that a while back. And there’s only me, now. Ada doesn't see the point in me not having plenty – it doesn't leave him short.”

I nod.

Trying to get my head round it.

Round the sheer – innocence – with which he says it. ‘Plenty’, ‘doesn't leave him short’ – talk about understatements of the fricking year.

He makes a little gesture with his hand, and I realise he means it is my turn.

“I work for Ki,” I say, and I look down at the table, because – it doesn’t really sound so great, “not with him. He and Fili – his brother – they are plumbers. Good at it. Good at all the customer service, all the admin as well. Me – I’m not qualified. Just a – labourer,” I shrug, “I don’t like it much. Ki knows. But – there isn’t much else. I – I wanted – “ I reach out, still not looking at his face, I don’t think I can bear to see the disappointment, the shock that surely must be there – I don’t think people in his world live like I do, I don’t think he has any idea what it’s like, and I take his hand, where he has on the ring I made him, and I touch it, “I wanted to do this stuff. I did the A levels even. But – I couldn’t go to college. Not full time. Not properly. Couldn’t afford it. Da – Da said it didn’t make sense. Not with no definite job at the end. So – I worked for various relatives – then Ki started up – and – it’s alright,” I say, lying, because – actually, I hate it.

Only I can’t quite bring myself to admit that. It sounds even worse.

Even more of a failure.

Bad enough to be on the fast track to nowhere, to be still living with my parents, still scraping and watching every penny to be able to afford the train down here, the fortnight in the summer – to say I hate every minute of it as well, to say I had dreams, but I let go too easy – it makes it worse.

I don’t think he knows much about failure.

I don’t know if he cares enough to – to put up with me as I am, not as he wants to believe me to be.

He doesn't say anything, then, 

“But you made this?”

“Yes,” I say, a piece of me aching that he has to check, but I know why, and I understand, I do, he must be wondering how much I – lied. Exaggerated, I told myself at the time, but – now it doesn't feel quite like that, so I try to explain, “and I – when I said I was a student, it wasn’t really a lie – I was – well – kind of – up til quite recently. At the local place – I did part time, evenings – I thought – thought that would be alright,” and I sigh because – I did. I thought – I was still learning the same stuff, skills, history, design, still building up a portfolio.

He squeezes my hand,

“But?” he asks, and I don’t know how he can know, how he can tell, but – it all spills out,

“But it doesn't count the same – when you put it on a cv – they look, and they don’t actually laugh but – it isn’t the same. And when they say – what are you doing at the moment – there’s all these posh types, working in something – kind of arty – or freelance – or working for free because they can – or – working for someone they know – and the jewellery quarter – “ I look at him, “you must have heard of Birmingham’s jewellery quarter, it’s pretty renowned,” and he nods, “yes, well, they are all – well, there’s the elf places, and the Men’s places, and the dwarf-run ones, but – they all take their own – and their own relations – any dwarf has enough of their own – and – I don’t see how I can ever get started – get anywhere with it.”

I stop, and I shrug again,

“So – I work for Ki. I’m a plumber’s labourer. And that's all. The dreams don’t count.”

He strokes my hand, and the sympathy is nice, but then he spoils it,

“I don’t understand,” he says, slowly, “why couldn’t you go to Art College? Were you not good enough?”

“Fucks sake,” I am growling, “of course I was bloody good enough. If I wasn’t, I’d’ve given up, trained as something else. I couldn’t afford it. Fees. And living costs. Just – just doing the evening course – took years of saving to pay for. More – I’d never have the money. Da wouldn’t pay – couldn’t. And he said – he said it wasn’t worth getting in debt for something so impractical.”

“Oh,” he sounds perplexed, “but – how much would it have cost?”

I close my eyes, and I can still see the figures.

I tell him.

“Per year? So that's – three, four times – that's not that much – you could have borrowed that easy enough. Against future earnings. Couldn’t you? I thought – there are loan schemes? You only pay back when you earn enough? Isn’t that how it works now for – for people like you?”

Carefully not saying ‘poor people’.

Shit.

I pull my hand away, the anger that's always there, the hurt in me coming out at him because he doesn't know, he doesn't see, and I wanted him to, I wanted him to see how it is, how it is to be trapped, how I – I want to give him what he’s been hinting at – time, and treats, and – more – but I can’t,

“No. Not per year. In total. Living cheap. I worked it out. Allowed a bit for extras. But – that's shitloads. To someone like me – like my Da – it’s a hell of a lot. And yes, I suppose I could have borrowed it – but – my parents worked all their lives – if I’d gone out and borrowed like that – they’d have seen it as – as throwing that away. I couldn’t do it.” 

And then I think – say it all, now, get it over with, face him with it, shock him out of his bloody complacency,

“Same as I can’t tell them I’m gay. I can’t. They – all they talk about is when they have grandchildren. It’s what they’re living for. I’m their only child. You – you don’t get it. You don’t understand, with your fancy fucking flat, and your fancy fucking job, and your trust fund, and your Ada who pays for stuff, and your big brother, and your – however many fucking thousand a year school fees, and college fees, and gap years, and – I don’t know – fucking surf boards that cost more than I make in a month – and bloody holidays here, there, wherever the fuck you like, and – and fucking coffee machines, and taxis, and – and bloody fucking sushi. So – yes – alright – you can bugger me all you want later. Have it all. I’ll be your bit of rough, your bit of fun, because I love you – at least – I think I do, I thought I did – but don’t tell me how I should have lived my life, because you don’t understand, you don’t bloody know a thing about it.”

I get up, and I walk away, and I throw myself on the sofa, and I start arsing around with the tv control, until I find some football, and I leave it on, loud. 

I know he hates football. Too fucking common I suppose.

Well, that's who I am, I think, get used to it – or tell me to fuck off.

But I’m not really watching. I don’t often – it’s just – always there, comfort noise. It’s what blokes do to end a row, to show they’ve said their piece and now they’re sulking, waiting for her to come round – put the football on.

I don’t know what he is doing.

Don’t look.

Eventually I can’t help it. 

Don’t know what I expect. Texting a friend. Tidying up. Doing something conciliatory. 

No.

He’s playing some stupid fucking game on his phone.

“Finished?” he says, “ready to listen now?”

I shrug, but I stab the remote, and kill the sound.

“To someone like me – that isn’t a lot of money. Not really, and certainly not over a lifetime. It’s like – like a mortgage on a house. If you’d had the guts to go talk to a bank – they would have lent it to you, at student rates. I understand your father wouldn’t have liked it – but – it’s your life. Not his. Same as coming out. Because if you don’t – they’ll be asking you why you don’t get married – and then – you’ll have to tell them sometime. It’s your life, not theirs,” he pauses, to see if I am listening.

I am.

I don’t agree, but I’m listening.

“I can’t change how much money my father has, any more than you can. So yes, he’s spent a lot on me over the years. He loves me, he can afford it. I don’t know if he knows I’m gay. I suppose so. Most people do. We haven’t talked about it.”

He stops again, and takes another breath.

“I don’t want to bugger you, as you put it, just in some kind of – having it all, dominating you – way. I wanted to make love to you – every way I know. Because we said – we said this was it. I thought we were heading for – commitment. But if you don’t like who I am – then maybe it isn’t, maybe we aren’t. And you can stay or go. Up to you. I don’t think of you as a bit of rough. That's not how I am. And if I don’t know about your life, that's because you haven’t told me. I’m trying, ok?”

He stops, and gets up, and walks away, towards the bedroom, and I don’t know what he is hoping I would do – am I supposed to go down on my knees? Apologise? Make a fuss? I don’t know. 

I wouldn’t know with a girl, and the rules are even more confusing with him.

He stops at the door, and says,

“And, for your information, when I said that there is only me – I meant it – my brother is dead. Since I was seven. Please don’t bring him up in an argument again.”

Fuck.

He goes through the door and shuts it.

It isn’t a slam, it’s very quiet, and gentle.

But I think I am probably supposed to do something special now.

Only I don’t know what.

Fuck.

No-one told me boyfriends were as complicated as girlfriends, I think.

For a mad moment, I wonder about phoning Ki, asking him to ask Tau what I am supposed to do now.

No.

I sit for a bit.

But this isn’t going to get easier.

It’s like before.

If I’m disappointed, upset because he walked away – because I chased him off – then I need to go after him.

So I do.

But first, I remember something. I go to my bag – still here, by the door where we put it down when we came in. I scrabble through, until I find it. I look at it again, and – yes. It is good, I am proud I made it.

I can only hope he understands.

I need to try.

I go to the closed door, and I knock. He makes a little noise – not ‘go away’, not ‘come in’, just a little sort of – wounded – noise, and I feel like shit.

Again.

I open it, and I see he is stretched flat on the bed again – but so differently. Hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

For a moment I wonder if he is in some weird elvish dream – then I see the glisten in his eyes, and I realise he is trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t want to spoil this weekend. I – I brought you this,” I hold it out, “I made it,” I say, unnecessarily, because really – it’s not the kind of thing you buy.

He sits up, 

“No,” he says, “I’m sorry. Let’s just – leave it? Yes? For now? Enjoy the weekend?”

I nod, and wonder what I am supposed to do now.

He doesn't move, so after a minute I go over, sit down next to him, and he takes the torc.

“Polished steel again,” I say, “sorry it’s not – I don’t know – what do you like? Silver? Gold? Mithril? Jewels?” I shrug, “not that it matters. I can’t afford anything like that. What you get is steel.”

He twists it, looking at it, feeling the edges, running his fingers over the engraving.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, “you made it? Stars – for you – and leaves – for me. You looked it up? What my name means?”

I nod, “Had to,” I say, “not the sort of thing I’d know otherwise. By rights it ought to be inlaid. Emeralds. Thought about glass, but it wouldn’t work – might be sharp too. So. One day, maybe. What I’d really like – would be perfect for you – is to get into mokume-gane,” and I see his beautiful face is blank, so I explain, because – because oh if only I could give him what he deserves, what he is worth to me, “it’s layers of metal. Laminate. I’ve always loved it, only – now – I wish I could show you. Looks like wood. Perfect for you. Strong, and tough – they make samurai swords from it – only – beautiful, and wild – and – all the things you are to me. If I could – if I could, I’d craft you everything from it. Dress you up, see you decked out as mine. If you wanted,” I drop my eyes again, and I shrug “As it is – well, maybe one day I’ll be able to buy better than steel.”

He looks at me, 

“I don’t want better,” he says, “its perfect. I like steel, its growing on me. Unusual. And – if it had the green it wouldn’t go with everything so well.”

I grin, because – he is trying so hard.

“It’s alright,” I say, “you don’t have to –“

He shakes his head, and his hair flies everywhere, “No, I’m not. Honest. It’s lovely. I – I suppose I could say – I can buy metal – you can work it – but I don’t think you want me to say that – and – I don’t want it different. The other – whatever you said – it sounds cool, but this is what you made. This is you, hard and tough, and – and looks ordinary at first glance, only it isn’t, it isn’t, it’s perfect,” he smiles at me again, and I think I could drown in his eyes, “put it on me.”

And holding his hair out of the way, clasping it round his neck – oh Mahal – every hour of work on it was worth it – it just feels so good to do this – claim him. A bit. As much as I can. It fits – of course – I’m not good at many things, but I’m good at this – and he looks – bloody amazing.

Especially when he takes everything else off except the ring.

“You like?” he asks, and when I nod, sitting there, hard as mithril, aching for him, watching him preen, and stand posing before me, he walks over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. Pushing me down onto the bed, he crawls up me, and I think – I think I might die from wanting him so much.

On all fours, he looks down at me, and the expression on his face is hunger, and wildness, and – and possession.

“I love you,” he says, “be mine,” and all I can do is nod, and let him, let him do as he will, as he slides down me again, stripping me with those clever hands. Before I have time to think about what he intends, he takes me in his mouth, only – only this time one hand is pushing my legs apart even as the other is reaching for the lube, and – oh. I had no idea his fingers were quite so long – and – oh fuck. Is that – is that – I cry out in shock, and wanting more, it feels so good – I didn’t know – I didn’t know but – if that is his fingers then – then what would more be like? Overwhelming, frighteningly much, painful maybe, only – only he wouldn’t let it be, he would take care of me, I know it, I know it the way I know my own name – but – ah sweet fucking Mahal – I didn’t know, I didn’t know how this would be. He moves his mouth from my cock, and I – I ache now, I want him so bad, his hand so clever, so knowing. And somewhere at the back of my mind, I remember how slow I was to understand, to touch him properly the first time – how I didn’t know what to do, or how, and he was so patient and – and loving.

His face is over mine again, and he leans close, and kisses me, and I can taste myself on him, and oh fuck, oh fuck, he wants me, and I – I can’t – I can’t – I can’t remember what I should be thinking or saying only that I want him, need him so badly, and then – then he sits up, and the fingers are gone, and I – I am reaching for him, blindly, needing him back, empty, bereft, and he – he is there again,

“It’s alright,” he says, “I’m not going anywhere. Just putting the condom on. Sorry. I’m here now, love, here now, alright? Yes? You want?”

“Yes, oh yes,” I say, “need, want, yes, please, I – I didn’t – “ and the rest of it is foolish babble, but he smiles, and he kisses me again, and I hold onto him even as – as he pushes, and 

“It’s alright,” he says again, “relax, breathe, alright? Yes?”

And oh yes, yes, definitely alright.

Weird. And – and not exactly comfortable – and I have no idea how he can move so bloody well because I already know I am going to pay for this tomorrow – but – definitely more than alright.

“Don’t stop,” I manage, and he laughs.

“Not going to stop,” he says, “not – for – a very – very – long – time. Going to show you just how damn wonderful this is. Going to take care of you properly. Oh Fuck you feel good.”

And then we don’t say anything very sensible for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

Next morning, I wake first and I feel – fantastic. Loved. He – we talked – even if it wasn’t easy, wasn’t smooth, we talked. Maybe I understand a bit more. Maybe – maybe there will be a way – even if we have to take it slower than I’d like. It isn’t that he doesn’t care, I hug the thought to myself, he cares, oh he cares.

I touch the torc, still around my neck, and I wonder just how long it took to design, to craft, to smooth and perfect. All that time thinking of me. I smile. 

Perfect moment, I think.

He – he is asleep still. Exhausted.

Oops.

I may have worn him out. Yesterday was a long day. Talking – arguing really – then – making love – teaching him, and – oh that was wonderful. Just – being here – half-watching films, cuddling, sleeping, eating – sex – shower-sex – lazing. Letting the rain keep us indoors, making a safe place just for us, way up above all the world.

I smile at the memory of him on his back, holding me, letting me into him, trusting me, his eyes so wide, so surprised, so – happy. 

And I smile at the memory of pushing him up against the wall in the shower, of kneeling down, and spreading his legs, and licking him clean, and hearing him change from – yes, horror – to delight – to – oh please Legolas, don’t stop, don’t stop, oh fuck, I can’t, oh fuck, please, yes.

And later – riding him, sitting astride him, his cock deep in me, because I love that – I love how he feels inside me – watching him watch me, knowing he loves it, knowing he thinks I am beautiful, and perfect, and the look on his face when I come just from him inside me – ah Valar, I don’t think there is anything better in the whole world than sex with the one I love. 

One who loves me too. 

Perfect moments.

But suddenly – the weekend’s half gone – more than half really – and I feel a kind of sick ache inside because – when he goes, I don’t know how long until I can see him again. When he’s here, it’s perfect, and I just want him to stay – I’m having to bite down on the words – stay. Don’t go, don’t leave me. Don’t go and work at something I can see you hate just for – for so little money. Stay with me. You don’t need money, I have enough.

But I mustn’t say that. Not now, not yet. Maybe in time.

We’ll go out, I think, it’s a lovely day. Can see the sun behind the blinds. Brunch. One of those nice places on the south bank.

Maybe walk along the river a bit.

Something like that.

Assuming he can walk alright, I think, and I smile to myself, watching him sleep.

Eventually, I can wait no longer. I wriggle down, condom ready, and take him in my mouth, and he wakes, slowly, happily.

“Hello, you,” he says, and I smile, as I remove the condom, tie it off and throw it away.

“Hello yourself,” I say, and he pulls me down for a proper kiss.

“Coffee now?” I ask, and I roll out of bed. He goes to follow, and then winces, “Coffee,” I say, “and then a bath maybe? Sorry. Forgot you might be sore.”

He makes a face, and – and I realise, he really isn’t comfortable. He’s not very athletic – gorgeous, but not athletic – I should have found a better position really, I think. I hesitate, then, 

“Another time – it might be easier on hands and knees. Only I – wasn’t sure – “

“Wasn’t sure if the chip on my shoulder might get in the way?” he asks, and I quirk my mouth ruefully, because – yes.

“If you’d tried – then yes. It probably would have. Only I don’t feel that way now,” he says, and I find myself on my knees next to the bed where he is lying, still not looking too happy,

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t – maybe I should have been more careful. Slower. Only – it’s not like we can be gradual. We don’t have every night together. But I’m sorry.”

He shrugs,

“Worth it,” he says, and I can feel myself flushing with pleasure as he adds, “definitely. For you. Don’t want to hear all the history, where – who – you learnt all that – not right now anyway – but – worth it. Although – if you want to go out anywhere, you’d better take account of my sore arse in your plans.”

I laugh, and kiss his nose, 

“Oh, I shall not be forgetting your arse,” I say, as I head towards the kitchen and coffee, “don’t you worry.”

 

 

 

 

I come back into the bedroom, and he’s standing by the dressing table.

At first I don’t recognise what he is holding, playing with. 

Then he turns, and he tosses it up and down, it catches the light, and I catch my breath, realising.

“Who is she?” he asks, and I don’t understand, don’t know what to say. “Fucks sake, ‘Las, who is she? Who’s this for? This is a girl’s ring. Engagement fucking ring. You got something to tell me? Fucks sake, all that shit about coming out, about where are we heading and – and this?”

I shake my head, carefully, not wanting to spill the coffee.

“No,” I say, and then, “no, I – oh look, have your bloody coffee – I – it’s complicated. Ada – my father – gave it me. Ages ago. I’d forgotten about it. I should give it back to him really. He,” I realise this is going to sound bad, but I think I had better go through with the explanation, “he gave it me before – before I met you – before we went on holiday – me and Tau – he said – maybe it was time we made it official. He’s always liked her.”

Gimli looks at me,

“So. All that shit – you’re not out to him.”

I shake my head, ashamed.

“Are you going to?”

“What?” I ask, “Come out to him? – yes, if you want me to – I should have years ago – I didn’t really mean not to – just – I kept thinking he must know, kept thinking I’d wait until – “ I flush, and stop, wondering if he can hear the words I am not saying – _until I met someone real, someone forever, someone like you_ – but he doesn’t say anything, so I ask instead, “Or marry Tau? – I don’t think so. Not now, I mean. I – I wondered. If we were both still single in a few years – or now – be nice to have company. Just – friends – but friends with kids. Instead of friends with benefits.”

He looks at me as though I am mad.

I shrug.

“She probably would have said no,” I admit.

He looks at the ring again,

“This cost a bit,” he says, “a lot. Good workmanship. Fancy stone. And yet – you left it lying around. For nearly a year now. And your father hasn’t asked for it back. How much bloody money do you have?”

Ah.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I bite my lip again, and search for an answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Driving between jobs next day, Ki asks me how the weekend went.

“Bit of an eye-opener, was it?” he says, carefully looking at the car in front.

“Could say that,” I try for laconic, but I know I miss when I add, “fuck, Ki, you could have said – I mean – you’ve been down enough times – you must have realised just how much fucking money he has? What kind of – shit. You could have warned me.”

He moves his shoulders in a way that would be a shrug if he wasn’t driving,

“And you’d still have gone, would you? Or would you have hidden even longer?” 

I don’t say anything – he knows me too damn well.

“Yes. That’s what I thought. He is what he is, Gim. But – he’s alright. Tau likes him, that's good enough for me. They’ve been friends since – sixth form, she said. That's a long while. I think – she kind of hinted – his dad paid for her gap year after college – her parents had paid for the one before college – I know, different fucking world – anyway, his dad didn’t want him going off alone. Over-protective I think – so she implied. She’s not one to say it, she likes them both too much, but – I don’t know. Thinks he can’t bear the idea of his little boy having to cope with anything bad. What it is to have money, eh?”

Almost I laugh. Then I think about what he said.

“Doesn't solve everything,” I say, and I wonder if I shouldn’t, but – Tau must know – if I don’t, Ki might come out with the wrong thing to her or Legolas – so I go on, “his mother’s dead. And his brother died when he was seven. Maybe that’s why his dad’s a bit – protective.”

He nods, and I can see him thinking about Fi, about their dad, how bad it was to lose him, how much they need each other. We’re quiet for a minute, then I try to change the mood,

“Still – when I finally asked just how much money they have – and he just coolly says – capital or income, dollars or pounds, gross or net – and then – fuck. Didn’t really know anyone had that kind of money. And I met him on a beach.”

Ki laughs,

“Yeah, Tau’s a bit more – real world. She does alright – her parents are ‘comfortable’, isn’t that the phrase? – but not in his class. Eh, no wonder you’ve turned – not sure I wouldn’t roll over for that money.”

Fuck.

It’s only a joke, I know, but – shit. Is that what people think?

Is that – somewhere – what Ki thinks? What all of them think – what my parents would think, if I ever found the guts to tell them?

I can’t speak.

It’s not like that. It’s not.

But maybe it looks it.

Ki pulls up in the driveway of the house we’re going to, and catches sight of my face.

“Shit,” he says, “Gim, I didn’t mean it – we all know – it isn’t like that. It’s just a – a thing people say. A stupid line. Don’t worry – its bloody clear who’s the top out of the two of you,” he punches my arm clumsily, “come on, I’m going to need you to shift stuff about here, I remember this house,” and he gets out of the van, even while I’m still trying to find a voice.

Not that I know what I want to say.

I love him.

It’s real.

But – yes, I let him. And it was bloody wonderful, I’d do it again.

All of it.

Only – maybe I won’t – if that's what people think – if – if I’m losing something by doing it.

Oh fuck, Legolas, what have you done to me?

Life was so much easier before I met you.


	6. Chapter 6

There is no easy way to do this.

“Ada,” I say, “I brought this back,” and I hold out the ring. 

“I’m not going to marry Tau,” I begin, and he does not let me continue,

“Legolas, you have been seeing her for – how long – ten, fifteen years now – you cannot walk away – what kind of little shit are you?”

For a moment I am silenced.

Then I almost laugh.

“No,” I say, “no, you don’t understand. It – it was never like that. She – she is engaged to someone else. I know him – I like him – its fine. I – she – we – look, take the ring, I feel idiotic holding it out to you,” and he takes it, still glaring at me. 

“I didn’t know you liked her so much,” I say, stupidly.

He shrugs, and walks towards the window. Vaguely I wonder how many hours I have spent talking to his back, or listening to him while I look at his back. He never wants to meet my eyes in these father-son moments.

He used to hold me; when we talked I used to curl up in his lap, and feel safe, feel that the world was kept at bay by him. Since I have been too old for cuddles – since I went away to School – this is how we are.

Best not to try amateur psychology on that, I think.

“Tauriel is not the girl I would have chosen for you,” he says, and I wonder who would be, and what he is staring at out there in the beautifully kept, empty garden. The garden Naneth loved so, he told me once, when I mentioned moving. 

I don’t remember. 

Not really. 

I don’t want to. 

I know – I found photographs once – that before they died, we used to almost live out there – not just in the summer months, but all the time. Climbing the trees, running, playing together – I suppose Thalion was a good brother, despite being so much older – it looked like it, anyway – small me smiled a lot in those pictures – Ada smiled a lot in those pictures. There was one – I don’t know how they set it up in those days – but – all four of us, must have been Yule, there was a decorated tree out there, and presents, and – and smiles, and – and I was on Thalion’s lap, Ada and Naneth either side of us, holding us, but looking – looking at each other like there was no-one else in the world. It looked – I don’t suppose it was really as perfect as it looked – but – it was nice. 

I liked the pictures, the story they told, I looked for hours, but one day, when I went to look again – the album had gone.

I don’t remember ever having a Yule tree, or presents. Oh, Ada has always been generous – but – just when he felt like it, or if I did something well at school, won something – not Yule or birthdays, or anything like that. He doesn't – doesn't do that sort of occasion. I suppose the gaps would show too much.

Perhaps it is as well I don’t seem likely to marry.

I don’t actually remember ever playing out there in that perfect garden, or ever seeing him sit out there, or work, or whatever people do in gardens – but he pays people to keep it perfect. And empty. Like his house. I wonder for a moment whether he, like Gim’s parents, is waiting – hoping – for grandchildren, and I am grateful that I don’t know; what I have to say today isn’t made harder by that. Oh Ada, I think, I wish – I wish your life was – I don’t know – warmer. I wish there was something I could do, something other than – than be something I am not. I can’t marry Tau, however much you like her, or any other girl, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I think, even as he goes on, 

“but I like her, you have fun together. You do not argue much. Still, if you have not let her down, and she has not jilted you – but – how can it not be “like that”, as you put it, all these years, these holidays, the flatshares, the – Legolas, I have seen you curled up in bed together.”

Oh.

Yes.

I remember Tau being amazed he didn’t lecture us about that. We were – what – seventeen? – home from our first festival, late, excited, couldn’t stop talking – and then we must have fallen asleep. He just half-smiled, and turned away.

I wonder now how old they were when he and Naneth fell in love. 

“That was a long while ago,” I say, irrelevantly, and then, “Ada, I – I should have said this before. I’m sorry. I thought – most people just know – I don’t hide it – but – I never said it – and now it’s harder to – I’m gay.”

I don’t know what reaction I expect.

Shock, anger, disgust perhaps.

Disappointment.

“Other people – most people – just know,” he says, and I can’t read his voice.

“Yes,” I say.

“Most people just know,” he repeats, still not looking at me, still looking out of the window, “and you have been – living like this – openly, I mean – for – how long – fifteen years – more, I suppose. Yet you did not tell me.”

“No,” I whisper, and it is only now that I realise how unkind that sounds.

“You did not tell me, your father. Your only family. You let me continue to wait, and wonder, and – speak of you and your girlfriend.”

I am silent.

I watch his hand clench.

“How many people have been laughing at me, for how long?” he asks.

“I – I don’t know – I never – I don’t think anyone would laugh at you, Ada,” I say, and I bite my lip, because – I never thought about that.

“Why?” he asks, and I swallow, wondering how to answer. “Did you think I would be – angry? Ashamed? What?” and the pain in his voice – I don’t know what to say.

“I am sorry Ada,” I try, “I – I just – I didn’t know how to say it. I – look at me. How did you not guess?”

He does not turn, and I wonder what he is thinking, whether he is bidding a silent farewell to the dreams of children playing out there once more, to the idea of another elleth enjoying the garden Naneth made, but he simply shrugs,

“Why would I? I did not think I needed to guess about you, I trusted you to tell me if there was anything – anyone. The only person you ever talked about much was Tauriel.”

“I am sorry,” I say again.

There is silence, and I wonder if I should go.

Then he turns, and looks at me, 

“So,” he says, “boyfriends. There have been some?”

I nod.

“And I missed it,” he says, and suddenly I realise, from the pain in his voice at those words, I have misjudged him, he is not mourning some imaginary future, he is mourning all that was not quite honest in our past, “I missed knowing about them. I – Legolas – that time you came home, left your flat – you said you had flu – but really, an elf, with flu, for months – you drooped about in hoodies, tracksuits, blankets, lived on chocolate – “

I blush at the memory, because yes, I was that pathetic, that much of a cliché. At least, I think, at least he doesn't know that when he was out at work – I used to curl up in his bed, in his chair, and – and pretend I was small enough to be held again.

“You were – what is the word – heartbroken?” he asks, and it is my turn to shrug,

“I thought so,” I say, looking at the floor, “but – no. Just miserable. Dumped. He – he wasn’t worth it.”

“Of course he wasn’t, the fucker,” he says, and in two strides he is across the room and holding me, as though it was yesterday, and I might still need comfort, and he strokes my hair, as he did when I was small and tearful, as I wanted him to those weeks – only I didn’t have the courage to ask – and I begin to see now how stupid that was, “of course he wasn’t. But – I wish I had known. And all the other times. The bad and the good. I suppose – there have been times you have been very – bouncy – happy – I suppose that was some boy as well. It seems a shame not to have known.” 

He pulls back and looks at me, then smiles a bit ruefully, 

“At least, maybe not every conquest. I suppose there have been a lot. You are very lovely, you must know that. But – why are you telling me? Because of Tauriel? Or – are you at that age? You want to settle down?”

I shrug again, thinking – well, yes, but my boyfriend doesn’t seem keen. And I don’t think a suddenly overprotective father is necessarily going to help.

“Wait,” he says, “I am thinking. Do you remember Elrond?” and when I nod, dubiously, thinking – he is married, and I don’t trust him, and as for his sons – dear Eru, please Ada, not those idiots, “no, well not him, of course, he is not suitable at all, but – we have a mutual friend – he is older than you, but – such a nice elf, honourable, kind – he would take care of you – yes – I don’t think you ever met him – Glorfindel – you would look lovely together. He is gay. Single. Old enough to take care of you. I’m not trying to pressure you, leafling, but – it would be nice to see you looked after properly.”

This is so not going the way I thought it would.

“I – thank you – Ada, I know you mean to be kind, but –“

He sighs, “I know. I am getting it wrong. I just – I want you to know I don’t mind. And he is extremely good looking. Works out a lot, I think. Not very rich, not by our standards, but you have enough money that isn’t a problem. Clever. What else do I know about him? Travel, extreme sports – you would like that. Some kind of – security – ex-army. Anyway. Think about it. I have never pushed girls at you – I – perhaps it is as well you don’t have a sister. I seem to want to get you married off. I – I find I want to meet your boyfriends and ask them if they have honourable intentions. I just – rather feel I have missed a lot.”

I bite my lip again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, once more, and then, “but – you are right; I had a reason for telling you. Not just Tauriel.”

I look down at my hands and I twist the ring. His eyes follow mine, and he takes a sharp breath.

He holds up my hand and looks at the ring.

“How did I not notice this?” he wonders, “you have been wearing it a while now. Is this – someone?”

“Yes,” and I look at him, watching him examine the ring.

It is only a cheap metal band. Not platinum, not fancy. I think they call them Russian wedding rings, three interlocking bands. Very plain.

So it appears at first.

But Ada is no fool.

He looks at me again, and nods.

“Classic style, and steel – unusual,” he says, and I think he is trying so hard. He is not saying how cheap it is, though we both know it, he is not saying – why are you wearing this on your wedding finger, why are you not properly married, though he must be wondering. Instead, “Sit down, come on, tell me it all now you have started. What is his name, where is he? What does he do? Which School did he go to? Which College? Where did you meet him – come on, you have a lot of making up to do. If this is as serious as you seem to think, I only get to do this once. So – tell me.”

Still with his arm round me, he pulls me over to the sofa, and we sit there, and I lean on him as I start,

“I met him – last summer. On the beach. When Tau met Ki. The one she is engaged to. They are friends – some kind of cousin, second cousin, something. He – he is lovely, Ada. He’s clever, and funny, and kind, and – and strong, and he’s got red hair, and I suppose he just went to the local comprehensive because they aren’t very well-off, I think and no college – and he’s a dwarf and he lives in Birmingham, and I love him and – and please don’t be cross.”

It all comes out in a rush, and I tense up again, wondering what he will do or say. I swallow, as the silence seems to stretch out, and I lean against his chest, and I close my eyes, remembering all the times he held me when I was small, and afraid, remembering how we wept together when my mother and brother died, and how I love him, and I wish I hadn’t lied for so long.

“I love him,” I say again, “and he loves me – he makes me happy, Ada. Please, please don’t be cross.”

Silence, and I begin to fear I am going to lose what I have only just found – I am going to lose this – this Ada who I can talk to, who I can tell something of my heart.

I wait, but there is still silence, and I – I cannot stop myself – I am so bursting with the need to talk of him,

“His name is Gimli,” I say, as though that is going to make a difference, but – even the word in my mouth makes me smile, makes me feel happy, and light, and bouncy, even as I am waiting for Ada to speak, so I say it again, “Gimli Gloinsson. I – he works with his cousins, but – only part-time – he does his own stuff as well. Metals – jewellery – he made the ring for me. He hasn’t had a boyfriend before. He – he makes me laugh, he makes me brave. He – he can’t surf.”

I don’t know why I add that bit.

“You are not,” he begins, in that voice that I dread, “you are not going to go and live in Birmingham, leafling.”

I shake my head, still leaning on him,

“No, Ada,” I say, because – I have no intention of it.

I wait.

He sighs, and runs a hand over my head again,

“He doesn’t sound what I would have chosen,” he says, “except – you love him, and he makes you happy, and – if he loves you – then I suppose that will have to do.”

I hug him tightly, and he holds me.

“He is in Birmingham at the moment?” he asks, and when I nod, “so stay tonight. Talk to me. Tell me – tell me all about him. And – anything else I should know.”

I nod, still curled against him.

“But first,” he says, and I smile at the unchangingness of my Ada, “first we are pouring some wine, and you are going to tell me why this paragon of dwarvishness has given you such a cheap ring. I thought dwarves knew about metal.”

I gasp, and I cannot stop myself,

“Ada! He does – but – he doesn’t have much money. It – it was a lot of money to him. And he took a lot of time over it. I – he – I hadn’t quite told him just how wealthy we are. I have now – kind of. Almost. I – I may have made it sound less than it is really. But it shouldn’t matter. Should it?”

He kisses my hair, and gently sits me up as he moves to find wine and glasses.

“No, ion-nin,” he says sadly, “it shouldn’t. But it does. All too often, it does.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Told Ada. All ok. Wants 2 meet u. has idea re job 4u. Talk soon? Miss u lots. Xxxx._

I send the text on the way to work.

I spend all day telling myself he is busy, he won’t reply until work is done, until he is home, until he has eaten, until – I don’t know.

I want to phone him.

I know Tau would say don’t – leave it at least until tomorrow night.

But I am not good at games.

I compromise.

_Phone me soon. Pls. Xxxx._

It is late before he does.

“Fucks sake,” he says, “I told you – I live with my parents. It isn’t easy to phone you without explaining.”

“Explain then,” I say, “I did – I told Ada. He – he was fine. More upset I hadn’t said before than anything else – “

“Bloody weird elves,” he says, and I think I hate phones, because I can’t see if he is smiling as he says it.

“Whatever,” I say, and I hate the way I sound, “but – he does want to meet you. Next time you come down. And – and Gimli – he had an idea – I told him about your jewellery making – I – I showed him the ring, and the torc – and – I had forgotten. He has a friend – well – kind of friend – I think he was Naneth’s friend really – she was a jeweller – did I tell you that? – Anyway – Ada knows this guy – I guess he has put a lot of business his way over the years as well – he said he could talk to him – get you an interview. Apprenticeship. Probably. Maybe – some kind of course – we’d – I’d – help with the fees – but day release, is that what they call it, from C&N’s workshop – Ada knows someone at St Martin’s – that's good, isn’t it? Mr C’s really one of the best – I’ve got a few of his pieces – Ada bought me one when I came of age, when I graduated, that kind of thing. He’s over in Hatton Gardens. But I – I thought – if you – then you could – you wouldn’t need to work for Ki – come down here?”

How is it that even on a phone you can tell when the way someone is listening changes?

There is silence for a moment.

“Gim?” I say.

“Gim? I – I was only – its just – I miss you. And Ada – wanted to help.”

“Gim? I thought – you don’t have to do the course – if it’s what you already know – only – I thought you said – it wasn’t the same? It would help? Having somewhere renowned on the CV? I – they do crystals? Swarovski? I thought you liked that stuff?”

“Gim? I – what is it?”

He doesn’t speak for a minute more, and I wait, wondering what is wrong, what have I done? I don’t understand.

“Fucks sake,” he says, and he is really, really angry this time, “what am I? Your little pet? I don’t need bloody charity. Or some fucking old boys’ network. You don’t get it, do you? I pay my own sodding way. I don’t need help, I don’t need some fucking elf-job, or some bloody London course – it’s not always better just because it’s fucking London. I don’t need your sodding money. I’d rather work for Ki all my life than make it that way. It’s a good job, you bloody snob, and I’m sorry it isn’t good enough for you. But if it isn’t, maybe I’m not either.”

“No,” I say, and I’m talking too fast, I don’t want him to put the phone down, “no, listen. You are good enough. More than. I – I know it’s a good job – but – it’s not what you want – Ki likes it – you don’t. You said – you said it was your dream – to work on your stuff – properly. I – I just – Ada wanted to help.”

“I don’t want your precious Ada’s sodding help,” he is so close to hanging up, I can tell.

“Well – but – it is only an introduction,” I say, “he can’t get you the place. Just – ask them to see you. Give you a chance.”

He sighs, 

“You don’t get it, do you?” he says, and the despair in his voice makes me cold, “you just don’t get it. That isn’t doing it myself, it isn’t fair, it isn’t – isn’t right. I’d always wonder if they only took me on to oblige. Always. It’d break us.”

“And this won’t?” I say, “this – you’ll only phone me briefly, late at night, in case someone finds out you’re gay? This – you can’t afford to come to me, but you won’t let me pay, and you won’t let me come to you either? This won’t break us?” I swallow, trying to find the words I want, trying not to pour out all the months of hurt and frustration, not to say – you won’t let me meet your parents, you won’t tell them, you won’t spend time with me, you won’t phone me, you – you won’t even come out dancing with me, here in London, here where you know no-one, but you still won’t hold my hand, or kiss me, even when I meet you at a station, even when I haven’t seen you for months. I don’t. Instead, “and – fair? Right? Since when was life fair, or right? It isn’t fair that you didn’t go to Art College after school. It isn’t right that you made choices about your life based on what your father would pay for. It isn’t – it isn’t fair that Tau can see Ki whenever they like, but I can only see you every few months because you don’t want to upset your parents. It isn’t right that my brother, my mother died when I was seven because – because some tosser drank too much before he got behind the wheel of his car – but it happened.”

That was a low card to play, Legolas, I think, even as I wonder if it worked.

I hardly ever talk about that – nor does Ada – we have both learnt to pretend it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn't matter that Thalion was only seventeen. That a few months earlier – Naneth would have been driving, that she would have had the reactions, the skill, to swerve, to evade, to save them both. That a few months later – he would have passed his test, been driving alone – that we would have lost him – but she would have still been here.

It doesn't matter that it wasn’t their fault.

That no-one can change it.

It doesn't matter that the trial, the time he served – the fact that Ada bankrupted him, his wife left him, he lost custody of his children – that none of that helps.

That Ada is alone. That he did not fade – as I suppose he wanted to – because he had to care for me. But I – I am grown now – and he cannot fade. He will be alone forever, and it is for the love of me – and I don’t have the words to tell him how much that means to me, what a good father he has always been. I don’t have the words to release him.

And I – I don’t even remember what it is I miss.

But we pretend none of it matters.

“You never told me that,” he says, quietly.

I shrug, which is pointless since he can’t see me, “You never asked,” I say.

“Look,” he says, “we’re both tired. I’m sorry. I – I’m glad your father was ok about things. I – I’ll try to get down again soon. I – I will think about what you said. But – you think about what I said too. I do love you – only – there’s all this stuff to sort out. It’s not easy.”

“I know,” I say, my anger burnt out now also, “it’s not easy for me either. I – I haven’t felt like this before – you know that.”

“Yes,” he says, “I know. I love you, ‘Las. Somehow, we’ll be together one day.”

“’K,” I say, and I sound small, “one day. Love you.”

I stare at the phone for a bit after he hangs up.

One day.

One day sounds a long way off.

I may be an elf, but I am not patient.

I don’t like waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a while before we speak seriously again. 

We go back to smiley flirty texts, to silly pictures, to – to sexting, I suppose.

Occasional quick phonecalls.

I suggest phonesex again, but – apparently his parents can hear through walls.

Or something.

At least we aren’t arguing, I think.

Then I get an invitation, and I phone him.

“Ada’s friends – they have a house up – a bit north of here. Hertfordshire. It’s big – I haven’t been for years – we used to go sometimes in the holidays – get out of London. He has sons, and a daughter. They’re alright, I suppose, but – thing is – there’s a big party – couple of weekends time – Friday to Sunday afternoon – Saturday morning if Friday is difficult. Ada is invited – and me – and they said I could bring someone if I had anyone. So Ada thought – it might be a good way – we would be able to spend some time with him, but also go off on our own a bit – and you could meet some people – some of them are useful people to know,” and I hear the intake of breath, and I could bite my tongue, “no, never mind that, but – it’s nice countryside. Please? I thought it would be easier than coming here.”

Please, I think, I don’t want to go on my own – and the days of turning up with Tau are over, I am coming to accept. She’s far too busy.

Lucky thing.

I’m glad, really I am. Only – I don’t seem to see much of her at the moment – and I get a bit – lonely.

He huffs a bit, and agrees to think about it.

I know that means he won’t.

I tell Ada it isn’t likely, but that I’ll come with him – I know he hates going to these things on his own too.

No-one realises it, he comes off very content, very cold, but – I wish Ada had married again. I asked once, but he said there was never anyone – once you’ve loved once, there often isn’t, he said.

Elves aren’t very good at loving a second time. 

He said – it would only really have been if he met a – an old friend – someone in the same position. 

I don’t know.

But it makes me sad, sometimes.

I try not to think about it much.

We arrange that he’ll collect me at lunchtime, drive up together. At least that way neither of us has to arrive alone.

Honestly – I’d rather not go, rather not juggle my hours for it. But Ada wants to, and – I suppose it won’t hurt. I can have my phone on in the car. There isn’t likely to be anything that couple of hours. I owe Ada a lot. It’s only fair to try and be what he wants sometimes.

I suppose that's how Gimli feels – but – not all the time, I think, I don’t do it all the time, don’t live by it.

I wouldn’t hurt Gim to keep Ada happy.

He asks about Gimli – he is trying so hard – and – I try to hide how much I am hurting that I haven’t seen him for over a month, that he won’t give a time when we can meet again, that he won’t talk about the future, that – that I don’t even speak to him most days.

But from the way Ada’s mouth goes flat and hard, maybe I am not a very good liar.

“It’s just difficult at the moment,” I say, “It will be alright. I – please – don’t start disliking him before you even meet him.”

I watch his hands tighten on the wheel, and after a minute he says,

“I’ll stop disliking him, the instant he starts taking care of you – moves in with you – puts a smile on your face, and a proper ring on your finger,” he shrugs, beautiful as ever, “I’m sorry, maybe I am old-fashioned. I just want to see you happy. It’s nothing else.” 

There is silence for a bit and then he adds,

“I saw Tauriel the other day. The minute your dwarf makes you sparkle the way she does about hers – I’ll be as affectionate a father-in-law as anyone could ask.”

I laugh, as he means me to, 

“He makes me sparkle when we’re together,” I say, and then again, “it’s just – stuff gets in the way at the moment.”

He nods, and pats my hand,

“I must simply hope it’s a short moment,” he says, and then adds, “you do know the way to Elrond’s, don’t you? I only remember North – or is it West now?”

He doesn’t approve of satnav, so I fumble about with maps, and my memory, and – we don’t talk about my lovelife anymore.

Which is probably good.

 

 

 

 

The whole set-up is weird.

Like – I know what it’s like – like one of those fucking 1920s house parties – Jeeves and fucking Wooster – only – I feel like I am also on a blind date.

Set up by my father.

And – I know he is only trying to be kind, I know he isn’t pushing, I know he thinks – thinks I need to get over Gimli – that it isn’t going to work out – that he is stringing me along. Ada just – wants me to see what the choices are. 

He seems to be conveniently forgetting I have worked my way through many, many of the possibilities while he thought I was dating Tau. That may be a good thing, given how he is reacting – I’d hate for him to be seeking out and making life miserable for blokes I dated – slept with – years ago.

But it’s weird.

It’s Arwen’s engagement party – or something – weekend – so she is there, with boyfriend – scruffy bugger, don’t think much of him – and her brothers – and I don’t like them any more now than I did as a teenager – supercilious. And a whole lot of their friends who I don’t know, and don’t want to know – and – oh aren’t they all lovely in their coupledom.

Fuckers.

But – almost from the moment we arrive – its “Legolas, why don’t you let Glorfindel show you the pool, the grounds, the library”, “Legolas, why don’t you tell Glorfindel about your gap year, your surfing”, or “Glorfindel, tell Legolas about your exploits, your war-stories, the places you’ve been”, “Glorfindel, sit with Legolas, walk with Legolas”, and on, and on, and – it would be awful, except – he is actually – really nice.

Really, really nice.

Slightly taller than me, but – bigger. If I had a muscle kink – and I don’t, I don’t – then he would be – perfect. Gorgeous hair. Blue eyes – eyes that have seen too much, I think, but are still kind.

He’s funny, he has stories about – everything. Been everywhere, met everyone, done everything – story after story, easily moving from Wellington’s campaigns, to India, back to Europe, to Cold War tales – and they are almost too farfetched, only every word is delivered laconically, every word has the ring of truth – this elf lived all these things, he lived the adventures I dreamed of, read of, as a child – but he doesn’t make me feel stupid, naive – he listens, compares his travels, his skiing, surfing, everything, with mine.

If I wanted someone to take care of me – if I wanted a sugar daddy – then I daresay he would be perfect.

A year ago – I daresay I would have slept with him.

Thought myself in love, perhaps.

But – not now.

He isn’t Gimli.

And – he is kind, he is nice – but – he doesn’t really want me. Oh, he fancies me – that's clear enough – and he likes me – that too – but – there isn’t that spark.

Still.

Ada looks happy when we come in to dinner together, his hand under my elbow steering me to seats away from the idiot twins; when we sit and talk, hardly speaking to anyone else. After the meal, when coffee is served in the library, I see Ada doesn't have a cup – so I take him one – and I find, without any words spoken, Glorfindel coming with me. He even – he has picked up my cup, which I put down to pour Ada’s.

I can see, from the way they talk, they are friends – not close, perhaps, I don’t think Ada has close friends, but – he likes this elf. So do I, truth be known. 

It is nice to be fussed over a bit, nice to not be hanging on the edge all the time, trying to fit in or look as though I don’t care. Tau not being here, I would feel a bit – lonely – if it weren’t for Glorfindel – so I try to be nice back.

Only not too nice.


	9. Chapter 9

He texts me Friday, tells me he is having a nice time.

Be better if you were here, he says.

Fuck.

I can’t. I just can’t see me at something like that. All those posh fuckers – elves – all known each other for years – all bloody at school together, or whatever. 

Wouldn’t know which spoon to use.

No. It’s not that so much – just – wouldn’t know how to talk to them. 

But then – he says there’s this guy his father wanted to set him up with. Some older bloke – sounds dodgy as hell to me – what does “ex-military, kind of, special forces, only – well – diplomatic advisor” mean?

Spy?

Fuck knows.

Weird kind of father thinks that's a good bet for his kid, seems to me.

Not even thinking about the age gap. Maybe that's different for elves.

But – the idea – that this is who his father wants – and he loves his dad, they’re quite close, in their weird elf way – weird posh ‘don’t talk, didn’t touch til he came out and apparently counts as a girl’, way. Some ways, I think they’re closer than Da and I, for all we live together. I can’t really talk to Da anymore.

That's partly my fault, I suppose.

Lying about Legolas.

About being gay.

About not minding about the jewellery thing, as he calls it. 

About being sensible, planning a sensible life. Finding a nice girl, getting a house, getting married, kids, all the rest of it.

Keeping the jewellery as a hobby.

Fuck.

I don’t want that.

I never did, not really, just – I couldn’t see what to do. And maybe – maybe if I hadn’t looked outside, if I hadn’t met Legolas, hadn’t heard him talk about interviews, loans, another chance at college, apprenticeships, jobs, living together – maybe I’d be ok.

But I have.

After he phoned – I looked up this guy, looked up the course, and yes, it’s what I want, what I always wanted – it’s things I could do, I know I could. Oh, it’s working with elves, some of it, but – not just. He’s famous for not being like that. For having mixed teams – that's why he’s so good, they say. And the workshops – fuck. I don’t think I ever – ever – before really thought I had the chance of such a place. 

So yes, part of me – doesn't like the thought of hurting my parents – but – worse – the thought of doing it on Legolas’ money, on Legolas’ father’s money – shit.

Only.

If that's the only way to do it – how can I not?

It’s what I always wanted – what, a year ago, I’d’ve said I’d kill for a chance at. 

I don’t have to now. I just have to – let my boyfriend spoil me.

But – somehow – that seems harder.

Shit.

It just – feels – I don’t know – girly. 

And fuck – I shouldn’t think like that, and I know I shouldn’t, and that isn’t how it is, and fuck, what bloody decade am I stuck in, but – that's how my parents will see it. 

Only if I don’t – then I’ll lose – not just the dream, not just all that I want to be, all that I could be – I’ll lose him. 

He hasn’t said that – but – somewhere in me, I know it’s true. Not because of the – the job, not exactly, but – the fact I can’t keep up with his lifestyle, his expectations, and more – the not living with him, not being with him all the time. He – be honest Gimli – he’s bloody gorgeous, and rich, and nice, and – and if I don’t grab him, keep hold of him, someone else will. This fucking spy, I guess. 

So. I could take a chance, a gamble, on us being good enough together to make it, to live together, to take his money, to take this chance at a training, an apprenticeship.

Or – the thought of not – of just settling – I can’t do it.

Something has to change. But I don’t know what. I don’t know how brave I can be. How much I can really do.

I haven’t talked to Legolas even.

I don’t know what I want – don’t know whether I dare move in with him – whether what we have is enough – but I’m beginning to think I can’t go on like this. I can’t go on hating the job, hating that I still live with my parents, hating that – that my boyfriend is over a hundred miles away, and I don’t even know how to speak about him. I can’t go on lying to my parents, being unkind to my beloved, and – and lying awake every night feeling guilty. Guilty because of what I want, what I think about, guilty because he is waiting, guilty because my mind is even less on the job than it ever was, and Ki puts up with it, but he wouldn’t if I wasn’t his cousin – and guilty because I’m wasting the Mahal-given talent I know I have.

I need to talk to Legolas, try and work out what to do. 

Not that he’ll be any help, but – maybe, I think, if I could hear his voice, things would feel – clearer. He has a way of cutting through – stuff – to the things that matter. And I – can’t help but listen to him.

Is that love?

Maybe.

I want to phone him – I try – even though it’s Saturday, even though it’s daytime, parents around, I try.

It goes to voicemail.

And then he texts.

_Sorry. Can’t talk. Playing tennis. G says we shd try Es horses!!! Or swim. x._

I don’t think he’s ever not picked up or phoned straight back.

I don’t think he’s ever only used one x.

I don’t think he’s ever sounded like he’s having so much fun with someone else.

Someone his father would like to see him with.

Someone – I don’t know – but – an elf, and not just any elf. Someone who knows how to be rich, knows how to – all the things I don’t know. Get served in a restaurant. Order wine. Play tennis. Ride. Surf probably.

Someone who isn’t afraid to hold his hand in public.

Someone who probably is a damn sight more practiced in bed than I am.

Shit.

Fuck.

Bugger.

Damn.

And I know I’m being stupid, I know he is just busy, being polite – I know he wouldn’t cheat or muck about – he isn’t like that. He loves me.

He isn’t playing games, playing hard to get, trying to make me jealous.

He’s just – busy.

But it makes me think.

If I don’t tell him – don’t do something – how long will he wait?

How long before he is busy a lot?

And – how bad does it make him feel that I do this? I don’t pick up, or text, if there’s people around. 

For the first time, I really think about how that makes him feel. 

Hidden.

Ignored.

A guilty secret.

Shit.

I need to do some thinking.

As ever, I want to talk it out with Ki – only Ki is busy with his girl. I’m not so close to the others – I never was – and – honestly – they’re – not freaked by the gay thing, but – not quite sure how to talk about it – him. They know I’m still seeing him – they asked how London was, that kind of thing – but if I were to go and say ‘I need advice, help, I don’t know how to do this’ – they’d run a mile. 

My fault, I guess. I’ve let it become – not talked about. 

Same as the jewellery thing. I’ve taken the easy option, kept my head down. And where is it getting me?

Nowhere.

But – shit. The thought of saying to my parents – I’m gay. I’m in love with an elf. I’m going to London to be with him.

And – however much we try and pretend it isn’t like this – I’m going to be living off his money. His father can get me the training – probably – that you wouldn’t let me have.

Shit.

I just don’t know how I can hurt them like that.

But if I don’t – more weekends like this. Him off having fun, me stuck here.

Or him miserable there, me stuck here.

Because I know he is miserable when we’re apart. I know it the same way I know I am.

We’re only right together.

But – there’s so much stuff in the way. Maybe it would be easier to give up. Let him go. Have fun with the elf his father’s picked for him.

Get on with my life the way it’s supposed to be.

But the thought of it – of not seeing him again – not hearing his laugh, not kissing, not touching, not – any of it – it makes me ache in a way I don’t have words for.

Shit.

I need to think.


	10. Chapter 10

Saturday it’s the same – idiot twins, and their idiot friends, all coupley, Arwen and her scruffy Man, all coupley, various older elves – Ada, some of Elrond’s friends, some of Celebrian’s, Elrond and Celebrian themselves – and on the edge of it all, Glorfindel and I. Only – somehow – it doesn't feel like the edge. I don’t think anywhere Glorfindel is would feel like the edge.

He is that kind of person.

We play tennis – at first just he and I, and it’s silly, and fun – but then some of the idiot friends appear – and suddenly he and I are playing a couple, we are playing doubles – and – and it matters. He is superb, of course, and I do alright.

It’s a long while since I played – but I used to love it at school – and, well – it’s not a very difficult game for any elf.

We win.

And I turn, expecting – I don’t know – a high-five, maybe even a handshake – he is Ada’s friend, after all – but he just picks me up in a hug, and swings me round until – until I am more breathless than the game left me.

“Enough of that,” he says, gesturing at the court, “I promised you riding. Come on. I happen to know Elrond still keeps some bloody good mounts,” and he leads me away.

He is right – I suppose he must be here often enough to know – the horses are gorgeous. It’s been a while, but, again, it isn’t the sort of thing you forget, at least not if you are an elf. He knows the place well enough to take us off on some bridle path, and there are places to canter, places to jump. 

“Didn’t want lunch, did you, beautiful?” he asks, “only I don’t think we’ll be back in time – at least, not if we go the best route.”

I laugh, because – no, I don’t want lunch. Not if the alternative is being out, in the sunshine, among green growing things, laughing, and singing, and racing.

Then I realise I haven’t told Ada where I am, and I go to reach for my phone.

“Not while you’re riding,” he says, and for a moment, I don’t like his tone of voice. I am not your child, your student, I think, but then he adds, “I told your father what we were likely to do, he’ll not worry. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t headed off the other way – there are some lovely woods over there – he was talking about seeing them again. He used to ride there with your mother.”

I look at him in surprise, because I didn’t know he knew Naneth, and he interprets it correctly,

“Yes, I knew them when they were courting. Not well,” he adds, “just – they used to be guests of Elrond, and so did I.”

I can’t help myself, I ask, and he talks a bit – all he can remember – and it isn’t much – but it’s more than Ada has ever said, so I’m grateful, and the time passes, the sun is warm, the horses good, and – and the way he spoke to me like a child is forgotten.

Once we have turned and are heading for their stables, the horses, of course, know, and pick up speed. In fact, we are soon racing, and he is laughing as much as I, there is no thought of being sensible and responsible now, I am pleased to find, and we clatter into the stable yard, as noisy and sweaty and silly a pair as anyone could wish.

The horses, of course, need rubbing down, and I don’t know where all their brushes are – but I do know how to make a twist of hay do the job. He laughs at me, and says I will smell of hay and horse-sweat, so of course – I throw it at him – and then the next – and then – it is a good thing they are patient horses, because we are pelting each other, and laughing and then – then he says, 

“Right, beautiful, you asked for this,” 

and he picks me up, over his shoulder, and I am squeaking with laughter – no, I am giggling – and pretending to hit him and flailing, and – and oh this is so silly – I can’t believe he is doing it – but he does, he carries me to an empty stall, and throws me down in the hay. And then he leans down, and I think he means to roll me over in the hay, so I grab him, and pull him after me, and soon – soon we both have hay everywhere, and we are laughing, and this is ridiculous, and then – then he is over me and holding me down, and – and he leans into me, and – and he is hard, and so am I, and his face is so close I can feel his breath on me, his mouth so close to mine, and his eyes – his eyes are so blue, so very blue – I think I could be lost in them. We stay very still, for a long moment, just breathing, and enjoying the feeling of closeness, of what is about to happen, and I – I am thinking of nothing but him, of the feel of him, the weight of him, the hardness of him, the sweet smell of his sweat, the way his breath tastes as I breathe in, wondering what he wants, what will happen – will he take me, here, in the hay, turn me over, ride me, tumble me like something from a regency romance story – and then I raise my hands, and run them through his hair – and oh his hair – so golden, so heavy, like a lion’s mane.

And I see the ring on my finger.

And I feel cold and sick inside for what I have so nearly done – what is about to happen – what I cannot stop. I know I cannot – all the time it has been clear – he is bigger and stronger – older and more practiced – he has fought for real, where I have not, and would not know how.

Even as he brings his face closer, something in my eyes must change, because he hesitates,

“Legolas?” he says, “it’s alright, beautiful, I know what I’m doing, relax.”

He thinks – he thinks I am virgin, I realise, he thinks I am innocent, and ready for love – for him – for this – he thinks – as elves are meant to be – that if I play with him, I mean it – I mean I want forever.

The realisation makes me feel – dirty, used – soiled. And the thought that – that I made a promise – I love Gim – yet I have given Glorfindel the wrong signals – I don’t know what to do. There is a moment when I think I may as well give in, let it happen, and it will be wonderful, I know it will, I can tell – and then explain later; when once he knows I am no deflowered innocent he will not care, he will only laugh, as it seem he laughs at everything – simply not tell Gim.

Then I think of my sweet Gim, of his trust, his love, of how I want him, and him only, and I turn my face aside, I manage to speak,

“No,” I say, “no, I – I didn’t – I don’t – no, Glorfindel. I don’t want you that way. Stop.”

He holds very still a moment longer, and then he leans down, so gently, and kisses my nose, 

“Then of course I will stop, beautiful,” he says, and he rolls off me, and lies beside me in the hay, both of us still out of breath. The whole thing has taken – moments only – but my heart is beating faster than ever before, it seems, and I am – unsure whether to run, or cry, or what.

“I – I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t mean – I’m sorry.”

He pats my hand, and suddenly again he seems – serious.

“Don’t ever, ever apologise for saying no,” he says. 

I squeeze his hand, and I say,

“No, I am sorry, because – I should have stopped earlier – I knew I didn’t want to – I’m by no means an innocent – it isn’t that I didn’t understand. I just – forgot,” and that sounds dreadful, but it’s true, “I forgot I am promised. It’s new to me still – being in love – being promised to someone. And – the other – playing, and sex – isn’t. And,” I look at him, and I smile, “you are bloody gorgeous. If I’d met you when I was single – bloody hell, I’d’ve been all over you like a rash.”

He laughs too,

“Come on then,” he says, scrambling to his feet, and pulling me up after him, “Elrond’s pool is outdoor, nice and cold – actually, it’s more of a lake than a swimming pool – only suitable for elves. But right now – I think we could both do with some cold water.”


	11. Chapter 11

Saturday evening, there is music, and dancing, and – and he makes a point of finding me as I stand, watching all the couples, feeling – oh fuck, feeling jealous, because my boyfriend isn’t here, and if he was he probably wouldn’t dance with me in front of all these eyes. 

Gim certainly didn’t want to go out dancing when he came down to stay with me – and I don’t know whether he just doesn't dance – but I can’t believe that – or whether he doesn’t want to go to a gay night at a club – he seems to have some funny ideas – he probably thinks all kinds of things go on. Well. Maybe sometimes – but – only if you look for it.

Anyway.

Right now, the lovely Glorfindel – and why am I still thinking that – I don’t want him – I don’t, I decided – I love Gim, and that's worth holding on to – the lovely Glorfindel is standing by me, and looking at me, and only me, and – oh fuck, Ada, what have you got me into?

“Brought you a drink,” he says, and then, smiling, “non-alcoholic, don’t worry, I don’t plan to get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.”

I look at it, and at him, and I raise my eyebrows,

“I am old enough,” I say, “and I am perfectly able to say no,”

and then I flush, because that sounds rude, and it isn’t his fault, but he laughs,

“Yes, yes you are,” he nods, and then he reaches out, and touches my face, “we established that. Old enough to drink, old enough to do, or not do, whatever – whoever – you want – and young enough to be absolutely gorgeous, but absolutely miserable.”

I look away, not knowing how to respond.

Because – it’s so nice to be complimented, so nice to have someone – fuss over me – and – he is so right about how I feel.

The fact that where he touched me is alight – is – completely irrelevant. 

“I think your father – and Elrond for that matter – were only trying to be nice,” he says, and I nod, admitting I know what he means, so he goes on, “I’m flattered. Usually the lads Elrond produces for me are much more shallow, easy to bed but not much else. And to have Thranduil push his son at me – well. I am truly honoured. But it isn’t much fun for you, I do see that. You – you have someone – you love someone already, you said?”

I nod again, words still choking me.

“Yes. It’s alright. I am not heartbroken over you. This heart has taken a lot of dents in its time. Tell me.”

And somehow – I do. 

All the things I don’t quite know how to say to Ada, the things that once I would have said to Tau, but now I can’t – about how we met, and he laughs at the story of the bet, of the blowjob that didn’t happen – about how I feel, about how wonderful it is when we’re together – about how he looks, the inkings that I haven’t yet dared tell Ada about – how they intrigue me, fascinate me for hours, about his hair – oh his hair, his funny ears, how he talks, how he makes me so, so happy – about how he hadn’t been with a boy before, didn’t know what to do, and how much fun it was teaching him, and how quickly he learnt, how easily, how even – even the things he wasn’t sure about – thought might diminish him somehow – he tried, and he understood it doesn't mean anything – it isn’t important who does what, only that we both enjoy it. How I just want to make it alright, I just want to have him with me all the time, live with him, be with him properly, buy him all the things he hasn’t had, take him everywhere he wants to go, show him all the fun and excitement life can be, spend all the money I have on him. It all pours out of me, because I don’t know this elf, I probably won’t see him again, and he – he seems to understand.

“I love him,” I end, “and he loves me. So it should be simple. Only – it isn’t – because of money – and work – and he doesn’t know how to tell his parents he is gay – and he lives with them – and not near me – and – and he’s proud, he doesn’t like handouts, he won’t let me pay for things – or help him – and – and he hates the way – oh you know – money – and – class – and stuff. So – I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether I should walk away, and – and just be on my own again – or look for someone else – or if I should – settle for what he can give. Odd weekends. Its – if he didn’t care, I could get on with things, but – he does – only – stuff happens.”

Not very eloquent, and I don’t know what I am hoping for – advice, reassurance? – but – Glorfindel nods again.

“Stuff,” he says, quietly, sadly, “yes. Stuff happens. I know all about that one. Stuff happens, so you put it aside, and you carry on, and wait for a better time – and – then he dies, and there isn’t a better time, and then you find that actually – actually he was in love with someone else all along, so you only made virtue of necessity after all.”

I gasp at the thought – the thought of Gimli dying – and I suppose he will, one day, he is mortal – but then I hear the rest of it – and I think – no. No, he isn’t in love with someone else. I know that.

He does love me.

It’s just – stuff gets in the way.

Glorfindel looks at me briefly, 

“Siege of Sevastopol,” he says, “not pretty. We won, but we lost a lot – a hell of a lot – of good friends. Especially – well. Names don’t matter now. Came home, found his fiancée expected me to comfort her. That was embarrassing. Upsetting.”

Sevastopol, I think, Crimean War. Charge of the fucking Light Brigade – benefits of an expensive education, I know this stuff. And – I can’t help but picture him on a horse, sabre flashing – and – oh fuck, Legolas – this is not appropriate. Stop lusting over someone who isn’t your boyfriend. Stop lusting over someone so much older. Shit. He must be older than Ada. I look again, and I can’t stop myself thinking – he looks good on it though.

Because that’s the thing – all day – all yesterday evening – he is gorgeous. And I like him. And he makes me laugh, he makes me feel – pretty, and safe, and – and as though I could curl up and be petted. As though he would take care of me.

Only – I don’t think that's what I want. Not any more. If it ever was.

I don’t want to be someone’s trophy, handed over by Ada. 

I don’t want to be someone’s pretty-boy, fun and happy, and good in bed – and even though I am sure he would give me a good time in bed – I don’t think it would be the way I want it, the way it was with Gim last time. He would want me always swept off my feet – but sometimes I want to do the sweeping.

And I think of my sweet Gim, my dearest, my beloved, my only, my One, and how he – he loves me so – he let me take him – even though he wasn’t sure, he was afraid, but he loves me, he trusted me. And – maybe I can live with stuff, if I have to, if it means being with him those rare weekends, maybe it’s worth it.

After all, he isn’t dead. Maybe I need to rethink my priorities.

Glorfindel takes a drink, downing it as though it is medicine, and then he speaks again, while I am still hunting for words, wondering who he lost. This time, his voice is lower, harder; this time there is real pain in it,

“But then – then you fall again – and you love him, properly, completely, as only an elf can love – and you tell him this time – and he loves you – and you think you are happier than anyone has ever been. You think this is what you were made for – to be with him – and all is bright and glorious and – and perfect – but – stuff – happens, you realise what people will think, and say – and you agree – agree to keep things quiet because – because it’s easier. His job – your job – parents, friends even – what would people say about you – and so you get used to being in the corners of each other’s lives, just – occasional weekends. 

“At first you live for those times – and then – then you find that sometimes – sometimes you have other things you should be doing – or he does – and so you don’t meet as often – and when you do – its quick, and rushed, and just – just sex – and you can’t talk anymore – because there’s too much to say, and there isn’t time, but you keep promising there will be, one day, one day – and you think you’re living for that one day – but stuff happens some more. You see each other less – the corners get smaller, and smaller – and you find – there isn’t really anything to keep quiet, because – the flame has burnt out through lack of oxygen. Smothered by – stuff. And so – you end up alone. 

“The world changes, and you could be together now – and you try to say it – but you don’t have the words anymore – and he doesn’t want to hear it – he says it would make a mockery of all the time that is gone. So you don’t. You stay on your own, and your friends try to help you, try to find someone pretty for you – but you don’t want anyone else – still, after all that time, it’s only him you want. – But no-one knows about him – there is no-one to push you together, because you always kept it quiet, and secret. – So you carry on alone, pretending you like it. – And you see him, sometimes – and he is alone – and maybe he aches too, but neither of you does anything about it – because of stuff. Stuff like pride, and habit, and fear, and – and duty, and being discrete, being careful.”

He sighs, and I don’t know what to say, I don’t have words for the pain in his voice, for the fear in me that this could be us, this could be our story, so I look at him, and I can feel tears on my face, and I think – Gimli, what have you done to me, I never used to cry – not much – not for years.

Glorfindel turns from where he has been staring out over the dancing couples, and he looks at me again, 

“Don’t let stuff happen,” he says, “don’t. None of it matters, in the end. Don’t let stuff happen, and don’t settle for less than you want, than you deserve.”

I nod, and he tries to smile, and I try to smile back, but we both are on the edge of something else. He reaches out again, and brushes the tears off my cheek,

“Now,” he says, and collects my empty glass, and puts it with his, “now you are going to dance with me, and we are going to enjoy this evening, the rest of this damn weekend – if only so that your father doesn’t have something bad happen to me for upsetting you.”

I can’t help it, I laugh, even as I see my Ada – my lonely Ada – watching us, and I know I am going to disappoint him again, but I cannot change who I am,

“Ada is not like that,” I say, “really. He is not a mafia boss.”

“No,” he agrees, “much, much more frightening,” and we laugh.

Actually, dancing with him is lovely. He is fast, and athletic, and he holds me well, and – and we just move right together.

Sex would be amazing.

Stop it, ‘Las. You want something real, you have to make the effort.

Don’t think about how Gim doesn’t seem to want to make any changes, any effort. He said he would think about it.

Give him a chance.

Don’t think about how many months you have already waited.

Don’t think about how bloody good Glorfindel’s arms feel, how strong he is, how – perfectly – he holds you, swings you, knows how to move you.

Just don’t.

After a bit, the music changes, and goes slow. I wonder if I should pull away, but – he smiles down at me, and says,

“It’s alright beautiful, you aren’t really my type. But – I don’t know about you, but I could really, really do with a cuddle right now.”

So I think – well – what harm? 

“Yes,” I say, clinging to my resolve, trying so hard to say what I ought to say, instead of what I want to say, “so could I. I’m sorry, you’re lovely – but – “

“But I’m not him,” he finishes, and as I nod against his chest, he strokes my hair, “and you’re not my ‘him’ either. Only – do you think you could possibly – look up at me a bit fondly – and maybe flirt a bit more tomorrow as well?”

I look up, more startled than fond, but trying, 

“Why?” I ask, and he sighs,

“No sense of drama, the young. Because, my dear beautiful fool, my ‘him’ is right now watching us, and he is looking more jealous and more interested in me than I have seen him look for – oh since before you were born. He is not stupid – he never cared about the pretty ones with nothing to say. But all this time of the two of them matchmaking – they are not subtle, my friend and your father – and you are so lovely – and young – and even if you don’t know it, the eyes on you, and the way you walk, the way you look up at me – you don’t mean to flirt, but – to him it looks as though you do. He isn’t stupid. He knows how hard it is to say no to Thranduil – and why would I? Another twelve hours or so of you being pushed at me like a delicacy on a plate, and I might – just might – be able to persuade him to think again. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know it’s the oldest trick in the book – but – I gave you good advice, I’m saving you from all the idiot friends of the idiot twins – and old tricks become old because they work. And old fool I may be, but I love him, and I want him back. Not that I ever really had him, but – please?”

I smile, and put my arms around his neck, and look up at him, not quite fluttering my eyelashes,

“So long as you give me a signed piece of paper to show my dwarf, saying nothing happened,” I say, and I think I shall phone Gimli myself, when I am alone, and tell him, and hope it will make him laugh, and – perhaps – make him think.

 

 

 

I phone Gimli, when I reach my room.

“I love you,” I say, “and we are going to make it work, whatever it takes. I am not being separated from you, nothing is going to make me walk away, or hide, or be in a corner of your life. And nor you for me. I am not letting go of this.”

“What the fuck?” he says, and I realise I have probably woken him, it is gone three, and I try to explain, trying to convey what I felt when Glorfindel was talking. How easily that could be us.

How much I don’t want to end up sad, and lonely, and hating each other.

“I love you,” I say again, as I run out of words, “sorry. It – it seemed important to try and say it all. Immediately. Only now I – did I wake you? I miss you so. I – we said – when we started – that we loved each other, that it was perfect, that we were – you were my One, me yours, and now – now all the stuff that gets in the way – it shouldn’t. Really. Should it?”

He is quiet, and for a moment I wonder if he is actually asleep. Then,

“No, it shouldn’t,” he agrees, and he sighs. I seem to make him sigh a lot at the moment, I think, and I feel sad, but then – then I think, no, it isn’t me – its stuff. We just need to walk past it, but before I can start again, he says, “you have a point. You – your older chap – and you had better not have been doing anything more than talking – he is right. Listen. Maybe I overreacted. I was thinking about it a bit – talked to Ki – and he said – what you said – just getting the interview – they wouldn’t take me on – certainly wouldn’t keep me – if I was no good. So – maybe – it isn’t fair, but – oh I don’t know. Life isn’t fair. He said – he said – enough odds against us, take the good side when the dice roll that way.”

My heart leaps, and I wonder if I am hearing right,

“You mean – you might – come and see them?”

“I might,” he says, “got to think. But – if not – then I could always – come and look for something else – more like what I’m doing. Or – I don’t know.”

“Whatever you want,” I say, “I just – I thought it might be easier with your parents if they knew you were doing something you always wanted. I – you wouldn’t have to tell them about us then.”

If you really don’t want to, I think, maybe it’s not up to me to make you. Maybe you should be allowed to decide. 

“If you – if you were living with me – I wouldn’t mind, I think,” I say, “if – if it’s going to be really difficult. Only – you’ll have to find a way to put me first. Sometimes at least. No corners.”

He laughs, and I am surprised he can laugh about this, but,

“Nobody puts my elf in a corner?” he says, and I laugh too, then, “well, we’ll see, it might be simpler to just say it. Otherwise – like you – it’ll be worse when they find out.”

“What did Ki say about that?” I ask, because – Ki seems to be someone he listens to – he knows them.

“I didn’t ask,” he says, “but – his bloody engagement isn’t making life easier, that's for sure.”

“Ah,” I say, “no. Suppose not. So it isn’t the elf thing?”

“No, no,” I can almost see him waving his hands, “no, these days I think that's ok – odd, but – ok. It’s the – gay – thing.”

Well, yes, I suppose it would be, since that’s how you felt, I think, but I don’t say it.

“Love you,” I say, instead, and he says it back. 

We are silent a bit, and I can hear him yawning.

“I should let you sleep,” I say, “I forget how much sleep you need. Enjoy it while you can. I’ve no intention of letting you sleep much once I get you in my bed every night.”

He laughs,

“Alright, elf,” he says, “daft sodding creature. I miss you too. I – I’ll think some more about coming down – try and work something out. Try and find a way to speak to my parents. Now – tell me about this nice older bloke. And I want promises of good behaviour.”

I laugh, and tell him.

Well, I tell him about Glorfindel. I don’t mention how tempted I have been. It doesn't seem helpful.

After all, I didn’t.

So it doesn't matter.

Surely.

We talk for – nearly an hour in the end.

Perhaps it will be alright.


	12. Chapter 12

Breakfast is mostly a quiet affair, many people are hungover.

Mostly quiet.

Until Elrond’s sons come down – they seem to have no ill-effects from alcohol – I wonder if they have slept at all, or stopped drinking – they are still loud, and giggling, and – and they seize the swords that are crossed over the mantelpiece and begin chasing each other around the table.

I thought they were just for show – they are beautiful, Damascus steel, the patterns like flowing water. I suppose Gim would know how they are made – would appreciate the work that went into those.

Not like these twins.

Idiots.

Someone will get hurt.

Without even thinking, certainly without our eyes meeting, Glorfindel has stretched out and taken one sword, almost lazily, so strong he is, while I have tripped the other twin and caught the sword he lets fly as he falls.

And really, it is as well we have. They are sharp – so sharp – perfect condition. Gim would like to see these, I think again. But really, if I were Elrond, or Celebrian, I would keep these locked up, or strapped down, or something. Their sons are idiots – do they not know?

Still.

The pleasure of holding such a thing.

“Indian,” Glorfindel, says, looking at me, “Elrond was out there – a wise choice in the nineteenth century.” I remember what he said last night about losing many friends – and I wonder that he is not more bitter.

“They are amazing,” I say, standing to get the feel of it, even as he does likewise, across the table from me, our eyes meeting in delight at the perfection of any created thing.

And then of course – we cannot help it – it is too tempting – it is so long since I held a sword, so long since I fenced, but it is not a skill one forgets, and he – he is magnificent. He steps lightly onto the table, and he is, I know, planning to disarm me – but I had an expensive education and I am my Ada’s son; we are alike in some respects. 

I too am on the table, and our blades cross as we dance, stepping between cups and glasses, plates and cutlery, and if I thought to be in his arms, to dance with him last night was wonderful – if I thought to ride and swim, and fool about in hay was a temptation – that was nothing to this.

It looks, they tell me afterwards, almost rehearsed – but it is not. Simply – we read each other’s eyes, and thoughts, and follow the movement of the blades as they need to go. There is a moment when he thinks he has me, I can tell, backed against the flowers at the table centre, but I duck and twist – I am smaller, but faster and more agile than he; though I have not his weight and power, in this game that is not so important – and I am under his arm, my point tracing his neck, even as he spins again to face me.

“Legolas,” Ada is not, it seems, impressed with the skill his money bought me, “what have I told you about dancing on tables?”

I flush, knowing he is rebuking me for showing off, but Glorfindel winks at me,

“I don’t know, Thranduil,” he says, “but I know what I could tell him about you and his mother, and many meals that ended, many tables that were broken, in just this way.”

My face must be a picture – I have never – never – thought of Ada as one who would behave so, but when I turn to look at him, dropping my guard completely, I see that – yes, it must be true. He nods, and for a second I see something – something like tears in his eyes before he turns away.

Another elf is staring, when I turn back, and I should be grateful that his regard has distracted my opponent enough that I have still my sword – but the disdain on his face is chilling, and cold, and I – honestly, I cannot imagine what Glorfindel could have done to deserve it. He does not, to me, seem one to inspire such dislike.

For a moment I remember my behaviour yesterday, and I think, no, he is truly chivalrous, a noble elf indeed. 

“Showing off, again?” the other says, disdainful.

I expect Glorfindel to answer, to laugh it off, but he does not, standing there, silent, as the room watches.

“No,” I say, instead, “not showing off. Educating me, are you not, my lord?” and as he looks at me once more, I run my tongue over my lips, and I shift my position, very slightly and provocatively. I blink, slowly, and look sideways up at him, tilting my head a little, “I have a lot to learn, but with your – tuition – I think I will be soon very – experienced.”

For an instant, he is thrown, not knowing how to react, then he blinks, and grins again, and moves fast towards me, his sword a blur, pushing me back until I leap off the table. He follows me, glorious in his prowess, and I – I am retreating across the room, but there is no shame in it, I think, no shame in being bested by this elf. If I can but keep up with him at all – I am doing well, and I know Ada is proud that I even try.

Someone opens the door onto the terrace, and we continue out there.

He is better than me, but I am not disgracing myself, and the fluency, the effortless way we understand what the other intends is wonderful.

“Are you fond of that pretty shirt?” he asks, and I realise what he is planning even as I grin and find the retort,

“As fond as you are of those designer jeans, I daresay.”

There is skill to this, and it occurs to me that an error from either of us will leave the other in need of stitches – but I do not care – this is fun.

Ada is now smiling.

He does not smile often.

I am distracted, and almost miss my opening, but I do not, and Glorfindel’s jeans are soon sporting attractive slashes.

Fuck he looks good.

Why did I not come out to Ada before, I think?

There is only a brief moment of triumph before my shirt is – in tatters.

He steps back, and there is a smattering of applause.

“More?” he asks, and half-winks at me, his face concealed from the audience even as he mouths a ‘stop’.

“No, my lord,” I say, using his archaic title once more, and I reverse my sword, offering it to him. He takes it, and hardly looking, tosses both to the dark elf – for all his dislike, I notice he has followed us out to watch – who catches them without even a blink.

Glorfindel reaches out, and takes my hand, and – and raises it to his lips.

“Thank you, Legolas,” he says, “I feel better for – that – among other things,” and the implication is so clear that I flush as he releases my hand, before he puts his other arm around me and leads me away, stopping only to speak over his shoulder, “Erestor, put those somewhere sensible. Somewhere hidden. Perhaps a closet – I am sure _you_ can find one. I am going out with Legolas. I have promised him a thorough workout.”

What?

Ah.

I see.

Erestor is he that was spoken of last night.

That would explain the sour look on his face.

We get only a little way out of sight before Glorfindel stops, and says,

“I am sorry. That was probably too much. I – I will phone your dwarf myself – write to him – assure him of your virtue if you like. And your father for that matter.”

I laugh.

“My father will only mind if I am upset,” I say, hoping it is true, “and Gimli – Gimli seemed to understand when I spoke to him.”

He nods,

“Good,” he says.

I wonder where he is leading me, but I follow, and soon enough – oh.

“Something you said,” he says, “this is my motorbike – thought you might like a ride – see if it’s what you want to buy your dwarf. Although maybe without the bells.”

Well.

Yes.

Yes, after an hour or so being driven at high speed on these lanes – yes. I would like, very much, for Gimli to have one of these. 

Or, actually, to have one myself.

Yes. The more I think, the more I decide this would probably count as charity, as patronising, as – whatever the rest of it was. Best not.

Besides. I am an elf. Faster reactions, better balance. 

Longer legs for that matter. 

Yes. My money, my bike.

But when we get back to the house, and I almost fall off, my legs quite embarrassingly wobbly, so that anyone watching will assume we have been doing more than simply joy-riding, as we take off the helmets and shake out our hair, the dark elf – Erestor – stalks towards us.

He holds out his hand to where I am taking off the helmet,

“Mine, I think,” he says. I look at it as he takes it, I look at Glorfindel, and I see that they are staring at one another; I am not noticed anymore.

“No,” Glorfindel says, “no, Erestor. This was never yours. The one before it was not either. Many, many years ago there was one that was yours. All the others – they waited for you – but you did not claim them.”

Erestor shrugs,

“You said once that it would always be mine. The seat behind you. The helmet. I – I used to enjoy that.”

Glorfindel looks at him, and his face – oh the pain on it as he says,

“I said a lot of things, once. You used to enjoy a lot of things. You changed – or maybe you just got used to hiding it all. I – finally even I – am become tired of waiting.”

There is silence. I don’t know if I should stay or go.

Erestor stares at the bike for a long time. 

He puts out a finger, and touches those ridiculous bells, gently, and there is a chiming.

“I bought these,” he says, quietly, and then, “do you remember, ‘Fin? I bought these for you, that year we rode all the way down through Europe, all the way to Athens. Do you remember? Your first bike, a Triumph I think – I forget now – was it 1912, 1913? I bought these because – because your singing was like bells to me. From some little road-side place, and – they smiled and said they would bring us luck. My hair was long enough – we were young enough – in those days, the robes I used to wear – they thought I was your girl. That was before – before – when we were brave, no, when I was brave – you have always been brave,” he swallows, and I look at Glorfindel and he is smiling, but there are the tears that did not fall last night wet on his cheeks, “Do you remember, ‘Fin? Do you remember all we learnt together? All that in those days was new and strange – and wonderful. Orange groves, and making love in the noonday heat, and lying by the sea – the blue sea – and we drank the easy wine, and time slipped from us; the stars would come out, and you would love me again, and again, and – and then the early-rising rosy-fingered dawn would come, drifting over the wine-dark sea – and you would swim, and come out, shaking your hair, so long, so wet, and you were my own Achilles, and I your Patroclus, your love, and all was well, and more than well between us.”

The look on their faces. Briseis is not wanted, I think, an expensive education not having been completely wasted, and I wish I were not hearing this.

Glorfindel is still silent, so Erestor speaks again,

“But that was long ago, and far away, and – so much has happened since. War came, and questions, investigations, rules and regulations, enquiries, work and duty, and – and somehow – I lost sight of you. I thought you had forgotten. I began to think it was only ever a dream, a longing. That words were never spoken between us as I thought they were, that – that all of it meant nothing to you. I never knew you had kept the bells. So long ago. So very long ago. So much time wasted, and now – now you have someone else on the back of your bike.”

I do not think I can bear it.

I do not want this, do not want to be in any way to blame for the look in Erestor’s eyes, for the tears that are now on his face also. I start to back away.

Quietly.

But Erestor is speaking again,

“I am sorry,” he says, “I am tired of – of living with my mistakes. I would like to be angry – but – what good would that do? I begin to realise how the world has changed – if the back of your bike is good enough for Thranduilion, if – if it hurts this much to see another with you, then – then I have been hiding from myself for too long. I am here now. ‘Fin – I am asking you – can I ride with you again? It – it has been too long. Please. I – I would like to try again,”

And Glorfindel lights up, blazing like the sun,

“Always,” he says, “always, I remembered, I wanted those days back – always. But you – were suddenly so very sensible, so changed, and I – was not. Yet – always – this is your place, my Patroclus, my love. Nothing changed that – all the pretty boys were only fun, not one of them could ever fill the hole you left in my life – I tried to say, only my words failed me, words always fail me – I – do you not remember I could never speak as you deserved? –Once you cared not – but then my words were no good anymore and it seemed that my heart was no use to you – that you did not want your warrior, you did not want to hear, but if you do – oh if you do – “

He reaches out, and – and they are in each other’s arms, and kissing, and – and I think I will just go away now, no need to be quiet, they are not likely to really notice anyone outside their own private world, for a very long time.

Well, I think, I am glad that worked.

However much of a silly little idiot I may look to anyone else – what do I care? If they are happy – and I at least know what I want, and I said it to Gim – and he seemed to listen – then what else matters?

But I wish I knew when I am going to see my Gimli, my own love, again.


	13. Chapter 13

Right, I think, here goes.

Fuck, Legolas, I wish you were here. You make me brave.

“Da, Ma,” I say, “I need to talk to you.”

They look at me, surprised, and I hate the hope that’s in their eyes, hate what I’m about to do, hate that I’m going to disappoint them so.

But it’s them or him.

“I’ve met my One,” I say, “and I – I might have found a way to get a job – a training – doing the jewellery.”

They look happy, and I close my eyes for a moment, before I go on,

“He’s an elf, he’s called Legolas, he lives in London, he’s friends with Ki’s Tau – that's how I met him – and he can get me an interview with someone – a jeweller – there. Probably get me on a course – the one I wanted – at St Martin’s,” but they aren’t taking that in at all, I can see, they’ve gone blank, they’re only hearing the first part of the sentence – he’s an elf, in London – and fuck, the look on their faces – why does this have to hurt them so much? But I’ve started now – may as well see it through. Fuck, Legolas, I think, I hope you meant it all. I hope you’re going to be pleased to see me. I take another breath, then, “So I’m going. To live with him. And try. Ki’s fine about the job.”

I don’t know why I bother adding that part.

There is a long silence before the crying and shouting starts.

 

 

 

 

 

As I walk into the house, I automatically check my phone. There is a text.

_Spoke to parents. Not gd. They will come round. Eventually. Cd u pick me & stuff up? I’ll come to london. Try. C about this job. Love u. Xx._

Two ‘x’s, I think. 

He means it.

I smile.

Ada is – of course – not far away.

“What is going on, Legolas?” he asks, and he looks at my shirt, at my hair, at the grass stains where we sat in the sun, at the grin on my face, and – and most of all out of the door at Glorfindel and Erestor who are still wrapped around each other – and I realise what he is thinking.

“It’s fine, honestly,” I say, and I hug him, unexpectedly, taking his breath away, silencing him, before I say, “I’ve just been being taught how to ride pillion. I don’t – Glorfindel doesn’t – not like that. He’s not my type, I’m not his. But – but Ada – look – “ and I wave the phone at him, “Gimli says he’ll come to London, he – he wants me to pick him up,” and I realise, “but – I don’t have my car. I don’t even have my licence with me. It’s Sunday. Hiring one will take ages. Ada, please – would you? Very sweetly?”

He looks at me, and raises that eyebrow.

“Would I very sweetly what? Let you drive off in my car, condemning me to a Sunday train journey? No,” he pauses, “or drive you to meet your boyfriend’s disapproving parents, and then drive you both back to London? Snogging on the backseat? No.”

My face falls, and I wonder if sad eyes will work.

It never has before, but it’s worth trying.

“Please,” I say, “because otherwise – he might think I didn’t mean it and – and – “

“And if he is that easily dissuaded he isn’t worth it,” Ada says, and I suppose he might be right, but even so.

Unexpectedly, there is a shout from outside,

“Legolas, catch,” and automatically, blessing the days of cricket one endures at school, I do, even as I look round to see Glorfindel lowering his throwing arm. In my hands are keys, and I look at the bike, thinking – but I can’t ride it – but he grins and shakes his head, before Erestor says,

“No, they are for my car. It will be more use to you, with this dwarf’s luggage – they always carry so much stuff about – and besides – I find I do not need it. I think I have perhaps been sensible more than long enough. I have a lift sorted, although where exactly we are going –“ he looks up at Glorfindel, “my chauffeur seems unsure.”

Glorfindel looks down at him, and strokes his hair,

“Don’t care, much,” he says, “so long as it’s with you. Let’s just – go. You’ve got your passport, Kitten, haven’t you? I know you have. Years of Foreign Office training. Let’s find you some sunshine. You like sunshine, I like you in the sunshine, it makes you giggly.”

And – Kitten – just smiles up at him, his own hands lost in that golden mane. He does not even object to the name, though anyone less likely to be called Kitten, less likely to be swept off his feet and carried away by Glorfindel, I think I have never met. 

Clearly, I am no judge of such things.

Perhaps this Erestor is strong enough to let Glorfindel sweep him away, to hide his own strength and be but a – a loving kitten to all appearances, though the truth I think will be quite different – something I now know I could never do, whatever Ada may think of me.

“Thank you,” I say, but they don’t even look at me again, just make a “run-along-and-play” gesture.

I turn back, and Ada nods at me,

“There we are then,” he says, “I will see you – and your boyfriend – one night this week for dinner. We will talk about his job then,” then he too makes a little shooing gesture at me, “now you had better phone him – or text him – find out where you are picking him up – and get on with it. And Legolas – I expect to see you looking completely satisfied from now on – or he will be in trouble.”

Fumbling, I type another text,

_Got car. Packing. Need directions. Coming 4 u. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx._

Almost immediately he answers.

_Wd rather u came in me l8r ;) xxx_

And I am only just over the shock of that – he is usually a bit more – reserved – when the phone rings.

“Sorry,” he says, “couldn’t help it. Ok. Directions. You got pen and paper?”

“No,” I say, and I scrabble about, as he laughs at me, but I don’t care, I don’t care about any of it – his laughter, my father’s sighing as he passes me some of Elrond’s best stationary and his MontBlanc pen, Elrond’s sighing when he sees what I am using, the directions that go on and on, and are clearly not very good, the fact that his parents apparently won’t be seeing him off or offering me tea, or in fact speaking to either of us, the people walking past looking at me oddly, the stains and rips on my clothes, the fact that Erestor’s car is not likely to be very much fun – fuck, from the keyring it’s a bloody Volvo, and probably needs filling as well – the hours of driving it is going to take to find Gim, and then get us back to London, and I have work tomorrow, and he’ll be sad, and I’ll be tired, and I know some days we’ll argue, some days he’ll hate the work, the course, some days he’ll hate that he doesn't have his family round him, like he’s had all his life, and it’ll be difficult for him, and – and I don’t suppose he’s going to like the way I am when things aren’t going right and my funds are losing money, and I know he hates my music, and how loud I play it, and I don’t know how I’m going to find being faithful – because I’m not doing so well so far, but maybe that’ll be easier when we’re together every night – and he’s proud and stubborn, and he doesn't like everything I am, and do and want, and I don’t suppose I like everything about him, and time will pass – time to which his mortality holds me hostage now – and some things won’t turn out as we hope, and he will age, and it won’t be easy, and maybe I will end up like Ada, alone and grieving, and I can only hope it is worth it, but – I am smiling, and smiling, because – this isn’t just a perfect moment to remember. 

It’s the start of something real.

And when I look across at the mirror, I can see I am glowing almost as bright as Glorfindel.

**Author's Note:**

> There is art for this fic
> 
> http://evil-bones-McCoy.tumblr.com/post/122439331939/1-next-morning-i-wake-first-and-i-feel
> 
> at least, I think that's the right address....


End file.
